


Uphill

by iAteCake (Qolibri)



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-06 05:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 90,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12204558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qolibri/pseuds/iAteCake
Summary: Adrift without purpose in a dying world, a certain Dragonslayer leaves the empty city he once swore to protect in search of his former master and friend. What he finds is pretty neat-o.





	1. A journey's end

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so there will be errors. For the same reason, everyone speaks modern english. My grasp on the language is not good enough for the fancy stuff.

 

The wind howled and whipped across the rocky landscape, bringing with it sand and occasionally snow from the mountaintops. Ornstein grunted as a particularly strong gust almost pushed him over the edge of the narrow stairs that someone had carved into the mountain. He caught his balance with some effort and continued the steep climb, his plume rippling behind him like a red eel in the beaming afternoon sun that somehow seemed to shine brighter than he would have thought possible in this day and age. The ascent was arduous and Ornstein was not sure if any sane man would even attempt this journey, but then again sane men were less and less likely to be found as the fire continued to fade.

And this truly was his last hope. He had to find _him_. As his tired muscles pushed the lion knight upwards step by step, he recalled all of his fond memories of Gwyn's firstborn son, memories he secretly always had treasured, despite being ordered to forget.

A soft and sad voice inside of his mind whispered that these were pretty much the last good memories he had had. After Gwynsen had left, everything had slowly gone to hell. Now everything Ornstein knew and held dear was gone, either killed, corrupted by the Abyss or straight out vanished from the surface of the world. Their once proud empire was no more, Anor Londo was reduced to ruins and hollows swarmed the lands like ants. His dear friends and fellow knights, Artorias, Gough and Ciaran, gone and never to be seen again. He halted. Did he even know what had happened to them? Ornstein suddenly wasn't sure, for some reason he could not remember. There were so many things he could not remember, it was as if his life had been reduced to a shell of it's former self. _Oh well_ , he mused as he continued walking, _this must be what it feels like to go hollow_.

 

The stairs took a turn, and after climbing over a couple of particularly worn steps that were hardly discernible anymore, Ornstein hauled himself up a ledge and fell to his knees in exhaustion and awe at what he saw next: He found himself on a plateau that held what appeared to be a gigantic temple with lofty arches and strange architecture, unlike anything he had ever seen before. Anor Londo surely had been a much greater architectural feat, but Anor Londo lay cold and lifeless in the shadows, its glorious days long one. This temple, though obviously ancient and crumbling in some places, looked alive for some reason, and the stones were so _warm_ in the bright sunlight. Ornstein took a moment just to raise his head and let the sun beat down on him, he had almost forgotten how good it felt, and when he opened his eyes again he was certain: This had to be the home of a God.

As he ascended the wide stairs that led to the temples open gates, Ornstein suddenly felt nervous. It had been so long since he had talked to Gwynsen, what if he didn't remember him? Or worse, what if he had grown to resent him for not following him into exile? But that would make no sense. He had ordered him to stay behind and protect Anor Londo after all. Ornstein shook his head, trying to calm the heart that was leaping in his chest so hard it almost hurt, tying his thoughts into a knot. Gwynsen would surely understand his plight, there was no need to worry. _And should he wish to strike me down_ , the sad voice mumbled, _I will not resist. There is nothing else in this world for me, I traveled for so many years, I wouldn't know where to go._ The lion knight passed the gate and made a pathetic noise in his throat. There was an ornate bridge just in front of him, and on each side stood two huge statues of none other than the firstborn himself. Ornstein held his breath as he approached, touching the stone with such care as if it could crumble to dust beneath his gauntlets. It really was _him_ , _his_ dragon shrine – the only place in the world where his statues had not been smashed to pieces. All the searching for this elusive place had finally come to an end! 

The knight almost had a heart attack when his happy thoughts were interrupted by a loud hiss. He whirled around and came face to face with a _snake_ of all beings. As he took a closer look, he became aware of the fact that this was not an actual snake, but rather a snake person – just like the guards in Gwynsen's fortress where knights used to be trained in days long gone. He knew he had to act quickly before the snake could decide that he was a threat. Although he was more than capable of defeating a single snake man, he was well aware that there were probably more around, and he was certain it would make a bad first impression if he were to immediately slaughter several of Lord Gwynsen's servants upon arriving here. “Please excuse my trespassing, I came in search of the Lord of this temple. Would you be so kind and lead me to him?”

The snake eyed him warily, obviously feeling threatened by his snarling lion helmet. “What do you wish to gain from our King?”, the snake asked tersely. “Your King used to be my master and I wish to serve him again, if you must know”, the lion knight answered, slightly irritated to be treated like some common vagrant by this insolent creature. But Ornstein was no royal knight here, he was in a strange land and could not expect to be treated with the reverence and respect he had been entitled to in Anor Londo. “If you wish to serve him, go to the mausoleum like everybody else did. You are not so special as to deserve an audience with our King just yet”, the snake sneered, pointing the way. The lion knight felt taken aback and had to control his urge to slaughter this insolent creature.  _He is a servant of Lord Gwynsen and I am not. Not yet_ ,  _at least,_ he had to remind himself. So he just nodded and went into the direction the snake had pointed towards. 

It did not take him long to find the mausoleum as it was one of the largest buildings, hard to overlook. When he entered and his eyes got used to the change of lighting, he observed with growing dread the figures sitting in each corner, on every wall, filling almost the entire room. They looked like humanoid dragons who appeared to be meditating, but something was wrong. They were not moving, not even breathing. Slowly and carefully, Ornstein took off his gauntlet and touched one of the figures horns. Stone. These – acolytes? - were petrified! What did this mean? Weren't these the followers of his Lord? He had been told that people were coming here to turn into dragons, but these acolytes all looked like they had failed and died instead. The knight was so lost in thought that he did not notice the figure that had appeared in the entrance, silently observing him.

 

“If you touch them some more, they might just bite your fingers off”, an amused voice proclaimed. And suddenly Ornstein felt petrified himself, even holding his breath as he slowly turned around in what felt like ages. There he stood, right in front of him: Gwynsen, Lord Gwyn's exiled firstborn son and Ornstein's beloved former Master. He hadn't even changed a whole lot, he still wore the same confident smile, the same eyes that always seemed to laugh - only his silver hair had grown quite long, sticking up from his head as if it weighed nothing, floating around his head like a crown of white strands. It looked almost like a lions mane. _And here I thought I was the lion,_ Ornstein thought, bemused and still awfully lost for words. 

At Gwynsen's raised eyebrow he came to his senses, gracefully lowering himself to a kneel in front of his former Lord, bowing his head and resting his weight on his elbows. He knew what to say, had recited it in his head for decades while searching and searching and searching. To his shame, his words sounded far more desperate and unrefined than he would have thought possible. “Lord Gwynsen! I am so glad I finally have found you. I stayed behind and protected Anor Londo like you ordered me to, but the city is dead now and the Gods fled to foreign lands. There is nothing left to protect and so I came here, in search of you. If you take me into your service once more, I swear to follow your every order and be loyal to you and your cause to the very end!”

 

This seemed to amuse the God. “Take a good look at your surroundings, Ornstein. Does it look like I still employ knights? Does it look like I still have _need_ for them?”, he asked and crossed his arms over his chest. Ornstein felt a cold pang of dread in his guts, his armored fingers digging into the stone as he pressed his forehead to the floor. “Please, my Lord! If you have no use for my abilities as a knight, there is surely something else I can do! I will do everything you ask of me without question, even if it's a lowly task fit for a slave. I only wish to serve you, please do not send me away!" The knight pressed his eyes shut and bared his teeth, desperately trying to keep himself from shaking with terror at the thought of being rejected and cast out into the dying world by his former Lord. “Everything?”, the God drawled, still with amusement in his voice, apparently feeling only slightly guilty for poking fun at someone who was clearly afraid for his life. 

“Y-yes my Lord! I will do everything you ask of me”, the knight answered, nervously listening to his old Masters steps as he approached. “If that is true, dearest Ornstein, then I will gladly welcome you into my service once more,” Gwynsen smiled. “You may rise. But you don't have to address me as _Lord_ , for I am a Lord no longer. And Gwynsen is no longer my name, as it was taken away from me a long time ago. You may simply call me _Faraam_ instead.”

The knight felt so relieved that he found it difficult to get up from the floor again. Now at the end of his long journey he suddenly felt all of the accumulated exhaustion crash down on him. “Thank you, Lord Faraam! I am eternally grateful to you”, he breathed as he staggered to his feet. Upon being called _Lord_ again, Faraam rolled his eyes. “Now, take off your armor!”, Faraam commanded. “...my _armor_ , my Lord? ...not just my helmet?” When the knight tilted his head at him in confusion, the God laughed: “Oh what now, you just swore to follow my every order without question, and this is already too much? I just want to take a look at you after all this time”, he said, casually leaning against a wall to watch him. “Since when are you so shy? I taught you everything you know, we used to be friends, you and I. So go ahead and take it all off”.

 

Ornstein nodded slowly, getting a strange feeling from the sparkle in the Gods eye. A feeling he couldn't quite place. “Of course, Lord Faraam.” After taking off his leonine helmet and freeing his long red ponytail, his nimble fingers found the numerous buckles and knots that held his armor together and undid each in the complex order that was routine to him. Faraam watched with hooded eyes, but his gaze made Ornstein feel uneasy somehow. He decided to look at his armor instead as he took part after part off and set them to the ground neatly and orderly. When he was done, he felt oddly naked, even though he was still wearing his breeches, boots and a linen shirt that had once been a vivid green. He was not used to be without his armor anymore. He couldn't remember when he'd last taken it off.

Faraam approached and Ornstein winced when the God cupped his jaw in his broad hands to examine his face. “It really _is_ you... I thought I would never see you again”, the God mumbled absentmindedly as he stroked his thumb across Ornstein's red eyebrows. “I've been looking for you... everywhere”, the knight whispered, not daring to speak louder with his masters face so close. “And I'm glad you did”, Faraam smiled as he patted his cheek and finally turned around, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. “Leave it!”, he called as Ornstein bent down to pick up his armor again. “Don't look at me like that, Ornstein. In this temple there is no need to entomb yourself in metal. You may leave your spear here, as well”, the God drawled, taking a long look at him. “Actually, you might as well take the rest of your clothes off, too.”

The knights brows knit together in confusion. “I'm sorry my Lord, but – _why_?” Faraam gave him an incredulous look. “You seem to have forgotten how to follow orders, _Sir_ Ornstein. You are covered in mud, oil and dirt, your clothes are frayed and so filthy, I wouldn't be able to guess their original color if I wanted to! I had to look very closely to even recognize your face under all that dirt! If I had to guess I'd say you did not take off your armor in 500 years. What _happened_ to you? You used to be so neat!”, Faraam threw his arms up in the air in exaggerated exasperation, a gesture the knight remembered him using quite often when talking about his father, Lord Gwyn. Ornstein felt himself blush furiously. Of course, he was dirty! How could he misinterpret his Lord's intentions just so badly? “I- I deeply apologize, my Lord! I was not aware of my body's condition, I will immediately clean myself up”, he stammered. “See that you do, please. Perhaps I should accompany you, we have much to talk about”, Faraam snorted. “I can't wait to hear the tale that explains how my proud and noble first knight came to be reduced to a beggar without any sense of personal hygiene.” 

When he turned and saw the hurt in Ornstein's eyes, his smile fell. Of course; In a world full of hollows and monsters, people ceased to care about their appearances. Even once proud knights. With a sigh, Faraam walked back to his knight and pulled him into a strong hug. “I apologize, dear Ornstein. It seems my jests are uncalled for today, for you are weary from your travels and need to rest”, he sniffed the air, ”and a bath. Definitely a bath. Finally feeling his own mood brightened by his old friends sense of humor, Ornstein playfully shoved him and Faraam laughed. “There you go! Finally a sign of the old Ornstein. But if you shove me again, I will _kill_ you!” He winked and hooked his arm around Ornstein's waist as he pulled him along to where the knight assumed the bath's were.

 

After Faraam's playful(?) threat, Ornstein was at a loss of what to expect from him. Faraam had always been rather carefree and impulsive, a passionate God of war that followed his desire for fun and fighting and never found much restraint in himself. His iron will and discipline in battle came from his sheer passion for it. But now Ornstein could not tell if anything the God said was serious or just a joke. The whole situation felt tense somehow, different from how it used to be. But it could wait. For now, Ornstein would just play it safe and try not to get on Faraams bad side until he could understand him better. After all, a long, long time had passed since they had last seen each other, and just as Ornstein had changed, Faraam must have had changed as well.

“Are you even listening to me?”, the God asked while slapping Ornstein's back, interrupting his line of thoughts. _So much for staying on his good side._ “Please forgive me, my Lord, it appears that my exhaustion has finally caught up with me”, he wheezed, trying to hold pace with the taller man as they crossed a huge bridge. Faraam groaned. “Ornstein, I _am_ no Lord. As I was saying”- the God was interrupted by a rush of wind and the unmistakable roar of a dragon - no, a drake? - that reverberated in Ornstein's very bones. Suddenly Faraams grip on him was very tight, rendering him unable to move as he watched the great beast fly by and disappear behind the platforms edge. “...Master?”, he asked, while lifting his gaze to meet Faraams solemn expression. There was a long silence and Ornstein began to ask himself what he had done wrong, when it occurred to him. “Master, of course I would not harm your dragons! “, he ensured. Faraam finally broke his scrutinizing gaze and looked into the distance with a sigh, letting go of him at last.

“To be honest with you, I was not so sure of your intentions when I saw you arrive here. You seemed very reluctant to leave your armor and weapon behind, despite knowing well that this is my sanctuary where no harm would ever befall you. You would not be the first _old friend_ to come here to try and slaughter me and my dragons. You were called _the Dragonslayer_ for a reason, and I don't believe you can get rid of your hatred of dragons that easily... but fear not, you shall be granted a chance to prove yourself. Now follow my lead.”  Faraam kept walking without waiting for an answer, not even looking at Ornstein who was secretly glad because he couldn't have kept the look of hurt off his face even if he tried. He had always been the God's faithful first knight, and yet his loyalty was doubted? Now he knew why his friend's gaze bore a strange expression he couldn't place – never before had Faraam looked at him with distrust. Ornstein followed his Master sullenly and in silence. They entered a building of average size that sported large windows and a domed roof with a hole in the very top, exposing the sunny sky. Ornstein could see five pools on the inside of the building, slightly varying in size and depth.

 

Faraam walked over to the second smallest pool and finally turned to face his former first knight. “This pool should be large enough to get you clean without contaminating too much precious water. Get out of those disgusting rags and jump in, boy”, the God drawled. Ornstein proceeded to take off his boots and shirt, but stopped as he felt the gaze of his Lord. He had not turned around to grant his knight some privacy. The knight slowly brought his hands to the hem of his breeches, shooting the God a pleading glance to signal him to look away. Faraam turned his back with a sigh and impatiently gestured to the water. Ornstein made haste to take off the rest of his clothes and lowered himself into the water that was surprisingly warm.

As soon as he had sat down, he felt hands untie his long ponytail. “By the sun, your hair is as filthy as a beasts”, Faraam cursed as he tried to untangle the red mess, kneeling on the pools edge just behind him. “Eh... my Lord, I appreciate the concern, but you really don't have to help me. I believe I can take care of this myself- ”, Ornstein tried, but was swiftly silenced as a bucket of water was emptied over his head, making him sputter. “I've told you _several times_ that I am a Lord no longer, Ornstein! And you obviously _can't_ take care of it yourself, just _look_ at yourself”, he wrinkled his nose, “Catch!”

A piece of fabric was tossed into the water next to him, which he reluctantly used to scrub his body, feeling mortified when the water started to turn murky from all the grime and dirt. It felt so odd to have his master help him with his bath when _he_ should be the one attending to _his Lord's_ needs and not the other way around. In Anor Londo, this very situation would have been impossible. But Faraam had started to soothingly comb his fingers through his now untangled and clean hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp and Ornstein had to admit that it felt quite good. “ Much better. Your hair is so beautiful, it would have been a shame to cut it all off”, the God winked, making the knight want to cover his face in utter shame. After what felt like ages, Faraam was apparently satisfied with the state of his knight's hair and proceeded to scrub his back, where Ornstein could not reach well himself. 

“You're so thin... if I didn't know better, I'd assume you were on the verge of going hollow”, Faraam muttered as he stroked his thumbs over Ornstein's protruding ribs. “Tell me, when was the last time you ate?” The knight paused his scrubbing, trying to remember his last meal. But nothing came up. He could not remember eating anything at all in his entire life. “...Master, I am afraid I don't know”, he quietly said, almost unable to believe it himself.Faraam silently nodded. “That's what I thought. But fear not, you will never go without purpose while serving me. We will surely find something to keep you occupied”, he smiled as he teasingly pulled Ornstein's ear. “But Master, if I may ask – can we even go hollow? Is hollowing not a trait of humanity?” Ornstein asked with genuine interest, looking back over his shoulder to see his masters face. Faraam regarded him with a slight tilt of his head. “To be quite honest with you, dear Ornstein, I am not sure myself. What I am very sure of, however, is the fact that my Lord Father did not always tell the truth about such matters. I know not whether we can truly go hollow like humans can, but I ensure you that we _can_ lose our minds just like them. I've seen it happen many times, though I never fully understood _how_.”

 

The knight slowly nodded and turned around to scrub the last small spots of dirt off his skin. “It is very confusing, the whole – _everything_. The world is just falling apart. I – I am just so glad I finally found you, Lord Faraam”, he said, so quietly he wasn't even sure Faraam had heard him. But telling by the hands that gave his shoulders a little squeeze, he had. It felt so good, sitting in the warm water, having his back rubbed and talking to the very person he had missed so much it had almost destroyed him. He wanted to stay like this forever.

“But- if I may ask, Master, why is this place so different? Why can we eat here and take a bath and _remember_? Why- why does the sun shine so _bright_ here when it is so dark everywhere else?” But as he turned his head once again to gaze up at his Masters face, he somehow already knew the answer: Faraam looked back at him, a playful glint in his eyes as the suns rays passed through the hole in the roof behind him and gave his floating hair the appearance of a halo. This bastard could deny being a Lord all he wanted – to Ornstein, he would always be the greatest of them all. Faraam smiled and asked: “Do you have faith in me, Ornstein?” Ornstein slowly nodded, gazing up at him in admiration. Faraam gave his shoulders one last squeeze as he finally got up and said “Then this sun will always shine for you.”

 

 


	2. Trust and treachery

“Master, are you sure about this?”, the knight complained as he was shoved out of the door towards where three of his Master's dragons were sitting on the dusty stones. Not one of the drakes he'd seen before, but real, actual _dragons_. So this was his chance to prove himself? Facing three dragons unarmed and in nothing but a pair of white linen pants that barely reached past his knees? He felt the hateful gaze of the dragons upon him as the unforgiving hands of his Lord kept pushing him forwards.

“The dragons despise you, you know”, Faraam told him, “you are infamous to their kind, the worst of all who devoted their lives to slay them. Are you ready to apologize?” Ornstein felt heat rise to his cheeks, this was so unfair!

“But Master! _You_ were the one who taught me to slay dragons! I just followed _your_ orders!”, he protested. “Yes, and it took me a very long time to gain their trust after all _I've_ done. You will have to make peace with them if you wish to stay, or they might try to eat you while I'm not looking” the God explained with a wink while giving the knight one last push that almost sent him sprawling on the floor. “I will come back for you in an hour or two. Worry not, I know you can do it,” he smiled, giving the slack jawed Ornstein a lazy wave as he strolled back towards the building.

_He is insane_ was all he could think, before slowly turning around to come face to face with the largest of the three dragons that had lowered it's head to see him up close. Ornstein could have sworn that his ponytail stood up straight from his head for a moment, being so close to a dragons face without weapons and armor usually promised a terrible and painful death. He hated dragons, he did not _want_ to apologize to them! _They_ should have been the ones to apologize to _him_ for taking so many of his comrades to the grave! For causing his Master to abandon him all those years ago! The knight watched as the dragon's pupils dilated as it observed his every move, looking at him with golden eyes, judging him. Ornstein swallowed his pride. He had to do this, he would do everything for his Master. Everything, even apologize to his most hated enemy. He bowed deep and closed his eyes, feeling the dragons warm breath against his body. “Oh mighty dragons, I humbly apologize for slaying many of your kind and causing you so much grief. I beg your forgiveness for all that I've done, and while I can understand that you may never truly forgive me, I only ask of you to let me serve our shared Master without trying to kill me. I promise to not lay a hand on your kind again, for serving Lord Faraam is the only wish I have left”, he declared.

When nothing happened, he slowly lifted his head and straightened his back again.

He felt genuine fear when he realized that there were more dragons now, encircling him so that he was surrounded by dragon faces. How did they even get there without him hearing them approach? They were huge! The largest dragon's eyes were half closed, regarding him with an almost thoughtful look. “A worthless and dishonest apology, Dragonslayer”, it's voice boomed in Ornstein's ears. “You hate us with every fiber of your being, nothing has changed in your heart. If the King gave his permission, you would gladly slaughter all of us. Why should we let you live?”, it asked, sending his hair flying with it's hot breath. His own breath quickened as he felt many dragon snouts press into him from all sides, grazing him with their teeth. They wouldn't kill him, would they?

“Please, is there nothing I can do to earn your forgiveness?”, he cried as he felt dragons snap at his arms and legs, drawing blood. “Why do you hate us, Dragonslayer?”, the voice boomed. “Tell the truth this time, or we will devour you!”

The knight did not know what to do. If he told the truth, they would surely kill him! If he lied, they would kill him as well! There was no escape. “I- I hate you because you killed and maimed so many of my friends and comrades! Do you- do you know how horrible a sight and smell it is to see your friends burn to ashes before your very eyes? Seeing them being eaten alive? Or worse, seeing them survive with their faces melted off, unable to see, to even speak? You cannot _imagine_ the sounds they made, they haunt me to this day!”, he yelled, trying to push the heads away that were threatening to crush him. “We do not”, the voice roared, “but we know well the sight of our kin being flayed alive by _lightning_ , stripped of their scales and plummeting to death, their heads mounted on your walls like trophies! Them falling out of the skies by the thousands, their homes being burned and even their young murdered in cold blood! Do you believe you are the only one that lost friends and comrades in this war? You made a _sport_ out of hunting us and boasted about it, while we just fought for our lives! It was _you_ who started this war, not us!”

 

Ornstein stopped struggling. Did this dragon speak the truth? Yes, Lord Gwyn had started the war, had he not? Shame welled up in his gut when he realized that the dragon was probably right. Now it dawned on him that he had never really considered the dragons to be sentient beings that had friends and family just like him. He had always thought them to be mindless beasts, monsters that had to be defeated to make space for Lord Gwyn's empire. And it wasn't like he had just been following orders back then - he recalled the trophy room back in Anor Londo, how smug he had been when he had found that there was no more space for new heads. Ornstein found that he still hated them, but he began to see where the dragons were coming from. A set of huge teeth burrowed into his thigh, almost severing his leg and causing his vision to swim and he found it difficult to breathe between the heads that threatened to crush him like rocks. He realized how soft and vulnerable he was without his armor and spear, like a squishy clam without it's shell; The beasts could effortlessly kill him. “Argh – please, please stop! I'm sorry, I promise! I'm sorry...”, he cried, tears starting to fall from his eyes as he writhed in pain.

Just when he thought that they would eat him alive, the heads drew back, causing him to fall hard to the stone floor. Laying on his back and unable to get up, he looked up at the dragons with blurred vision, coughing and bleeding. “I believe you have begun to _think_ , Dragonslayer”, the voice thundered far above. “We will be greater than you once more and show mercy where none is deserved. Our King believes that you can change and so shall we. But mark my words: If you ever bring harm to any of us again, your fate will be worse than death!”

A flutter of wings that drowned out every other noise informed Ornstein of the dragon's departure, and just a moment later he was all alone. He was shocked to realize that he was crying, curling up on the stone floor in a puddle of his own blood. This had been so much worse than he had anticipated, he had expected an awkward apology and wounded pride. Instead, he had been almost mortally wounded, his whole world and everything he'd ever been proud of was falling to pieces under the encroaching, all encumbering guilt that made him remember the dragon's screams as they fell from the sky, felled by his lightning. They somehow sounded so different in his memory now, almost like people.

 

“Now now, Ornstein, there is no need to cry”, came Faraam's soothing voice as he felt himself being picked up and cradled against the God's broad chest as if he weighed nothing. The knight couldn't respond. On top of his already mind crushing problems, he now also felt very ashamed for crying in front of his Lord. Would he even still want him around after this awful display of weakness and cowardice? He could only try to desperately swallow down his own sobs, failing miserably. “You know”, the God mused as he carried his wounded knight back to the building, “I did not think it would be _this_ bad. What did you say to enrage them so?” Ornstein just gave him a look of utter betrayal. How could Faraam blame him for all of this when the whole thing had been his idea? “They hate me, you said so yourself”, he snarled, “how can you blame me for this? What did you _think_ they would do?” And then, more silently: ”Why didn't you help me?”

Faraam sighed and shook his head. “I am truly sorry, Ornstein. When I asked the dragons this morning to hear your apology, I am fairly sure I _specifically asked_ them not to harm you in any way”, the God said. “It seems they hate you so much they simply didn't care. I am deeply sorry for what happened to you, but had I intervened, they wouldn't have given you another chance to apologize and I would have been forced to send you away for your own safety.”

 

“But aren't you their Lord?”, the knight whispered, slowly losing his consciousness.

“I am their _ally_ , Ornstein. They are not pets, nor do I hold absolute power over them. They look up to me as their leader, but if I treat them unjustly, I might loose their faith and loyalty, just like it can happen with any soldier”, Faraam explained. "You are pretty much the arch nemesis of all dragons, so it's not like I could just _order_ them to forgive you. That is something my Lord Father would have tried to do, and it would not have worked”, he muttered, gently setting Ornstein down onto a pile of rugs and fabrics that served as a bed.

“Now I will tend to your wounds and you shall have a good rest. You have earned your right to stay here”, he said as he started to heal and bandage the knights wounds. When he was done, Faraam got up and turned to leave.

“Gwynsen...”, a barely conscious Ornstein wheezed, “please... don't leave. I'm dying...”

The God looked slightly surprised at being called by his name, his old name nonetheless, but he smiled as he took the knights hand in his own. “Worry not, dear Ornstein, you will not die. I will watch over you as you rest”. The knights eyes closed at last and he fell into a deep sleep of exhaustion.

 


	3. Storm and silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: nsfw image in this chapter

 

When he woke, he felt a constant warm breeze sweeping through the open archways of the room, gently swaying the torn curtains that blocked out most of the sun. It had to be around noon, for it was very warm. Ornstein felt surprisingly well, considering he had almost been torn apart by dragons. The bandages were gone, save for the one on his right thigh which had almost been severed and still hurt quite badly. When he lifted his gaze to take in his surroundings, he noticed that Faraam was still seated right next to his bed, sitting perfectly straight in a lotus position. He seemed to feel the knights gaze, for he immediately opened his eyes and looked back at him.

 

“By the sun, and here I thought you'd never wake. Did you know you made me sit here for two days straight?”, he smiled, observing with great pleasure Ornstein's embarrassed expression and adding with a mischievous grin: “...did you know that you called me by my first name before you fell asleep?... my _old_ first name?”

Ornstein simply turned his back, knowing well that the God wanted to tease him, but he felt too exhausted for his antics now. The God snickered and slowly leaned over the knight to see his face. “Did you know... that you asked me for a kiss?”

Ornstein was about to retaliate by loudly praying to Lord Gwyn to be freed from his menace of a son, but his blood ran cold when he felt Faraam's hands sneak below the hem of his pants, dangerously close to his crotch. The God's mouth was at his ear, whispering: “You always had some nice hips on you...“

Before the God could go any further, a fist was brought to his face with such force that he landed flat on his butt. Ornstein sat up on his bed and glared daggers at him. He felt betrayed and was utterly furious, ignoring the searing pain in his still injured leg. “How dare you treat me like this!” He pointed a finger at him with heaving shoulders and a deep scowl. “I tried everything in my might to please you, everything! Yet the only thing that appears to make you _happy_ is to see me hurt! A few days ago, you had your dragons almost tear me apart, and now you try to take advantage of me while I'm too weak to defend myself? What has gotten into you, Faraam? What do you _want_?”, he yelled, a mix of rage and fear on his face.

Faraam had ceased to smile and regarded him with an expression that would have caused lesser men to die of fear, but it soon changed into solemn contemplation. He looked somewhat disoriented. “Ugh... that was quite an impact. Well, I am delighted to see that for all your cowering and groveling, you still don't pull your punches. What a relief indeed”, he muttered. “I apologize, Ornstein. It seems I gravely misinterpreted the situation. I assure you it will never happen again.” Without giving him the chance to answer, he got to his feet and left the room rather hurriedly.

 

After watching him leave, the knight sank back into his sheets with a frustrated growl. What in the world had just happened? Did he really just hit Faraam square in the face after the man had tried to touch him inappropriately? What would happen next? Was their relationship irrevocably destroyed? He spent the rest of the day worrying about his future, asking himself the same questions again and again. When night fell, his anger had dissipated and he almost wished that Faraam would return so that they could talk about it. But he did not return. Not on the next day, not in the next week. The snakes brought him food and new clothes whenever he needed some, but they did not talk much or offer any insight on where the God flew off to. When the third week began, Ornstein grew restless. Finally, he made the daring decision and approached one of the dragons that sunbathed in front of the mausoleum. “I apologize for disturbing you, dragon”, he began, “but I am worried about Lord Faraam. He has been absent for weeks now and did not educate me about his whereabouts. Could you perhaps tell me where he went to? Or at least if he's alright?”

The dragon opened one of his eyes and watched Ornstein with an expression of boredom. “Did it occur to you, Dragonslayer, that perhaps he does not want you to know?”, the dragon purred, watching him with amused disdain. “Do you have a deathwish, approaching me like this?” The knight gazed into the huge, golden eye, losing himself in it's metallic beauty. It was oddly relaxing to look at. “Sometimes I don't know, dragon”, he sighed. “Do you know what happened between him and me?”, he asked the huge beast. “I do not, nor am I interested in it”, the dragon answered. “Now begone, small creature, before I lose my patience and do to you what I should have done weeks ago,” he growled, closing his eye again and signaling that this conversation was over.

The knight trotted away from it in defeat, spending the rest of the day wandering aimlessly around the temple grounds and waiting. When night fell, he tried to ask another dragon, again without any luck. _Perhaps he will never return while I am still here. Does he wait for me to leave?_ , he asked himself, watching his legs dangle from the edge of the platform. He could see only the moonlit clouds beneath, no sign of solid ground. Just as he wondered how long it would take him to fall until he splattered on the rocks like a ripe tomato, he heard a faint noise in the sky that grew rapidly louder. Staggering to his feet and almost falling off the platform, his eyes grew wide as he witnessed a huge, feathered creature descend onto the temple grounds and disappear behind the buildings. It had looked like a dragon, but somewhat different. A stormdrake? Perhaps it knew where his God had run off to. He took a running start and sprinted towards where the creature had disappeared, still limping from his leg injury. Had he been healthy, he would have effortlessly bounded across the buildings, but like this he had to take the long way around.

 

As he reached the open space the stormdrake had landed in, he almost felt his heart skip a beat in joy: There was Faraam, standing right next to the huge beast and – talking to it?

They were both covered in blood and dirt, Faraam was wearing his swordspear and armor and it looked like they had been to war. Ornstein felt an ugly wave of jealousy rising in his heart. His Lord had gone to battle with some _animal_ by his side, and he did not even have the nerve to tell him? _He_ had always been the one to accompany Gwyn's firstborn into battle, they had won wars together that had seemed impossible to win. They had always trusted each other with their lives, and Ornstein had felt invincible with Faraam by his side. And when Lord Gwyn had wanted to assign Ornstein to his own regiment, separated from the one lead by his son, Gwynsen had told his father that he _needed_ his lion knight right beside him and begged him not to take him away. Never had Ornstein been more happy and proud than on this very day. He wanted their relationship to be just like this again. The memory gave him the courage to emerge from the shadows and approach his Lord with confident strides.

“Good evening, Lord Faraam”, he innocently addressed the other man, as if there was no bad blood between them. Faraam turned and regarded the knight with a look of surprise and caution. “Hello, Ornstein”, he finally answered, “do you need something?” _Ouch_. Ornstein forced himself to smile. “I just wanted to greet you after your sudden absence, but if you're occupied, I apologize for having intruded in this”, he glanced at the stormdrake, “conversation. Still, I would like to ask you something in private, so I would appreciate it if we could talk later this evening.” The God bit down on his lower lip, a cue that betrayed his nervousness. “Of course. You may come find me in my quarters in three hours.”

“Thank you, my Lord. I will be there”, the lion cheerfully declared, performed a small bow to each the God AND the drake (just for good measure) and promptly marched off to prepare himself. His beloved Master was back and he had agreed to talk to him. Now the knight only had to figure out whatever went on within the Gods head that made him act so crazy, and if everything went well, their relationship would hopefully return to normal.

 

Faraam's _quarters_ consisted of a circular room just below the roof of a tower. It was a lofty place with a view of the whole temple grounds, the floor and some of the walls were covered in furs and rugs and there was always some incense burning on a table in the middle of the room. Ornstein found it was a nice and cozy place, the only disadvantage were the lack of stairs that led to it. His Lord usually just dropped in through one of the huge windows. Ornstein's leg was completely healed, so he found it only slightly bothersome to reach the room while mere mortals would surely have plummeted to their deaths. So he sat down at the edge of the room, looking out of the window and waiting for the God to arrive. After what felt like five hours, he finally did: There was a gust of wind and Faraam unceremoniously came flying through one of the windows, landing semi gracefully on a ragged looking fur that seemed to specifically serve as a landing spot. “I apologize for keeping you waiting”, he huffed, shuffling to the middle of the room and setting down two cups of tea. _How he managed to get the tea up here without spilling anything is surely a miracle on it's own_ , the knight thought, _and this miracle would surely be coveted among barmaids_. “Come sit at the table with me, Ornstein”, Faraam offered as he sat down himself.

Ornstein took a seat on the opposite side of the table, thanking him for the tea that was offered to him and took a sip. It was nothing special, just common darkroot tea, but the knight found that he enjoyed it quite much. All the food that was accessible here was a far cry from the fancy feasts they had had in Anor Londo, but the knight found that he did not miss it. Everything he needed was sitting right front of him. “So tell me, Ornstein. What did you wish to talk about?”, the God asked with a schooled face. _Well, let's get straight to the point_. “To be honest with you, Lord Faraam, there is so much I would like to talk about, but first I would really like to know why you did not warn me that you would be absent for several weeks. I was worried”, he explained, setting his teacup down rather heavily for emphasis.

Faraam appeared to be very fascinated by his own teacup, chewing on his lower lip as he pondered an answer. When the minutes passed, Faraam's eyebrows had sunken deeper and deeper towards his eyes and he still had not said a word, Ornstein knew that something was very wrong. Without thinking it over, he got up and walked around the table, sitting down again next to Faraam and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“You can tell me, you know”, he pleaded, looking up to the taller man's face with a look of heartfelt worry. When Faraam finally met his gaze, Ornstein felt his heart break. His eyes looked so sad, it was so _unlike_ him. “Why are you still here?”, the God asked so softly, the knight almost did not hear it. _Why did he ask? Did he want him to leave?_ “I- Lord Faraam, I could never leave you. You know this! I wouldn't ever have left your side, had you not ordered me to stay behind”, he said. Faraam gave a frustrated sigh and turned to look at the stars that now shone brightly through the windows.

“Yes, I know. But why?”, he inquired. Ornstein looked at his teacup that he had left on the other end of the table and that now was out of his reach. _Why_? He had never really thought about it. “I...don't know? I want us to be how we used to be, back in the age of dragons”, he stuttered. “I want to go to war with you, as your first knight... and I want you to be proud of me”, he quietly added. This was embarrassing, but guessing from Faraam's facial expression, this little _talk_ they had was not any more comfortable for him than it was for Ornstein.

“But why me? There are countless Lords and Kings you could go to war for, and skilled as you are, they would surely be proud of you as well”, Faraam sighed, sipping his tea. “I know that my sister does not have need for you anymore, but you had countless other opportunities, you met many prestigious Lords and Ladies on your travels who offered you a place at their side in thriving empires with huge armies. But you never stopped searching for this place, even though I left you behind to ally with your arch enemies all these years ago! I betrayed you! Your behavior is not normal!”, he yelled, bringing his fist down on the table and making the knight flinch. “I'm sorry, Ornstein, I just don't understand you. What can I give you that others cannot, when I am not even a Lord anymore?”, he growled. The lion knight felt completely lost for words. He had no answer to this question, had never asked himself. All he knew was that Faraam was _his_ Lord, and no one could ever replace him.

“Eh... I am deeply sorry for being unable to provide you with a satisfying answer, Lord Faraam, but I could never truly accept anyone but you as my Master. Not even Lord Gwyn was ever able to replace you in my heart. I suppose it is simple: You are my God and I have faith in you”, he guessed. “You are truly idiotic”, Faraam laughed joylessly, wiping tears from his eyes. If they were tears of sorrow or joy, Ornstein could not tell for sure, but Faraam seemed rather unhappy so he suspected the first to be the case. “Why? What is idiotic about being loyal to the Lord you swore an oath to?”, Ornstein asked with a raised brow, feeling more and more offended. “Because”, Faraam explained, “you swore an oath to my father first, and only _then_ to me, and yet I don't see you running after my father. Unlike me, he would have been quite easy to find”.

 

Ornstein groaned in irritation.

“I don't know what to tell you, Faraam! What do you want to hear? If my presence is inconveniencing you, you just need to say so and I will leave. Do you want me to leave, Faraam?” The God seemed to mull over the question, making Ornstein want to throw him out of the window. “Yes and no, to be honest. I think you should leave because you don't belong here. You are a dragonslayer, a knight that is destined to wage wars, slay dragons, attend prestigious parties and collect the heads of your enemies on a wall. You can do none of these things here, so I believe you would be better off elsewhere. I would miss your company, but it would be selfish to keep you here when it makes you unhappy. There, I believe this is a valid explanation”, the God muttered.

“I cannot believe it”, Ornstein snarled, “you misunderstood everything I just told you! I _could_ live a content life here, if you would just stop trying to scare me off and going to battle without me, not even allowing me to wear my armor! Stop lying to me or face my wrath, you big oaf!” “I am _not_ lying”, the God of war roared, “I _considered_ taking you with me into battle, but then I made this _mistake_ and I wanted to give you some space,” he grimaced. “... what mistake?”, Ornstein asked, but as soon as he had spoken he knew what Faraam was talking about. Suddenly, they were sitting there in deafening silence. Both of them looked straight ahead, not knowing what to say next. And suddenly, it all made sense to the knight. A triumphant smile sneaked onto his face as he turned to the God and proclaimed: “I believe I know what this is about!” Faraam blushed and shot him a withering glare. “You think this is funny?”, he hissed. “If you _dare_ to mock me for it, you will leave this room in _pieces_!”

“Now now, let's be civil for once”, the knight waved him off, “I do not intend to mock you, I am just relieved to find out that our situation is really not as bad as I thought. Lord Faraam, I apologize for having punched you in the face. I did not know you had genuine feelings for me, instead I thought you wanted to rape me for the fun of it while I was injured and couldn't fight back. It seems we both misinterpreted the situation.” “Why would I rape you? This doesn't make sense, I would never do such a thing! I thought you trusted me”, Faraam pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Well, try to look at it from my point of view. Your behavior has been unpredictable since I arrived here. I believe I understand the reason for it now, but back then it seemed very frightening because I did not know what to expect from you. I had no idea what you would do! After all, it had been hundreds of years since the last time we've seen each other, and I was concerned that you might have slowly lost your mind on this mountain of yours. But why didn't you just _tell_ me of your feelings instead of shoving your hands down my pants all of a sudden?”

“I- I thought you would like it, as I said, I misinterpreted the situation. Terribly, and I deeply regret it”, Faraam groaned, covering his face in his hands.

“... what made you _think_ I would like it?” Ornstein asked, his confusion apparent on his face.

 

The smile that Faraam gave him was the saddest the knight had ever seen on his face. “Forgive me. I just assumed that...You followed me to the ends of the earth, even after everything I'd done, so... I just thought that... that maybe you loved me too.” The God's eyes closed, but the tears fell regardless. He looked tired and defeated, unfitting for a God of war. Ornstein felt physically pained to see him like this, so he pulled him into a hug, trying to show him that it was alright, that he wasn't mad at him anymore. He felt the God's arms slowly wrap around him, but he still seemed very reluctant to touch him. He was probably worried to scare the knight again, but at least he stopped crying after some time – which was good, because Gods were not supposed to cry. “Faraam... since when do you feel this way?”, he quietly asked.

“...do you remember the one time in the dragon war, where we both thought you would die?”, he mumbled, resting his chin on the knights head. “I am no good at explaining things like this. But when I saw that dragon swallow you whole, I just knew. I- I thought it inappropriate to tell you. I was your Master and I was scared you would have done it regardless of your own feelings, just to serve me, and - I did not want to use you like that. But now, we are no longer knight and Lord, just two exiles on top of a mountain. So I thought it could be different this time... it seems I was mistaken...”, he trailed off.

 

Ornstein leaned into the God and closed his eyes.

“I sure would have wished for you to tell me sooner, for nothing bothers me more than seeing you troubled. You _know_ that I love you, more than anything else in this world. But I never even _considered_ that we could have a romantic relationship, being a mere knight it was simply not my place.” Faraam gave him an incredulous look. “But-” “Please let me explain”, Ornstein said. “I always thought it to be normal to love you, since many knights and clerics are deeply in love with the deities they serve – but none of them _ever_ expect their love to be reciprocated and neither did I. To me, it had always been a fact that you would be properly wed to a beautiful goddess one day, and I would have been happy for you”, he explained, absentmindedly wrapping a strand of the God's hair around his finger. Like everything else about the man, it felt rough, almost like horse hair.

“Your chivalry will be the death of both of us, Ornstein”, Faraam sighed. “While I might have been very much expected to marry a woman, you wouldn't have been the first knight to have an actual relationship with a royal deity. In fact, I once met a knight, a human even, who was so sure of his goddess' love for him, he called himself _the embraced_ and wore armor that symbolized the embrace of Fina”. ”How unbecoming”, the lion scoffed. “That is _your_ opinion, Ornstein, I found it to be quite original. A shame it had to be Fina though... this knight was terribly devoted, but she only showed any interest in him whenever she happened to be in the mood.” Faraam pondered for a while, undoing Ornstein's ponytail and combing his fingers through his hair.

 

“My Lord Father always insisted that God's had to be placed on a pedestal and worshiped from afar, and that's how it was done. But to tell you the truth, Ornstein, I always much preferred to be right beside my followers, being _there_ with them on the battlefield's of this world, being there _for_ them as they fought and lived and died, instead of shutting myself away in some faraway castle. Please do not put me on a pedestal, it is terribly lonely up there”, he sighed.

Ornstein gazed up at him with wide eyes. Suddenly he felt awfully guilty for believing that the royal Gods should not feel loneliness, cry or feel love for anyone except for other royal Gods. He had completely objectified his friend. “Oh...”, was all he could muster as he tried to come up with an answer. Well. He _did_ love Faraam, and Faraam claimed to love him too. And there were not many – if any – other Gods left for Faraam to choose from, anyways. “Well”, the knight finally said, “if you are still interested in the idea, I would not be unwilling to be your lover”, he admitted. And indeed it felt very nice to be held like this, to be showered with affection by the most important person in the world to him, even if Faraam was the sun's firstborn and Ornstein would never be truly worthy of his love.

 

He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the moment, but Faraam leaned back and lifted the knight's chin to look him in the eye. “Do you really want this, Ornstein?”, he whispered, and the knight felt like he was getting lost in those gray, stormy eyes. “I won't hold it against you if you refuse.” Faraam's muscles were tense, he was ready to strike, only waiting for Ornstein's consent and Ornstein knew that the God would probably ravish him on the spot if he gave it. He also knew that if he'd answered _If it would please you, my Lord_ , or something like that, Faraam would understand and accept it as a _no_. There was only one answer in his heart, though. He took a deep breath and threw everything Lord Gwyn had taught him overboard, bracing himself for the oncoming onslaught.

“Yes, Faraam. I love you too, and I want this more than anything”, he declared, boldly climbing into the God's lap and grabbing him by his silver mane, pulling him down into a kiss. As expected, the God's hands were upon him instantly, stroking down his back and grabbing his ass while Faraam kissed him with the same ferocity he always used to show on the battlefield.

 

“You are the most beautiful thing in the world”, the God purred as he pushed the knight to the ground, making him lay on his back, before he sucked a dark bruise into his throat. When he started rutting his obvious erection against his ass, Ornstein's eyes rolled back into his head as he wrapped his legs around the other man's hips, feeling utterly dominated and loving every second of it. Now he was totally fine with it, because he knew that Faraam would stop at once if he told him to. “I want to take you right here”, the God whispered into his ear, “make you mine. You won't be able to walk for a week when I'm done with you”, he growled. “Stop talking, you are terrible at this”, Ornstein laughed, trying to catch his breath and struggling to remove his clothes with Faraam's bulk pressing down on him but finally succeeding. He let his hands roam over the God's sunkissed skin, delighted that he finally got to touch him to his hearts desire.

He had not expected much restraint from the God and he found that he really enjoyed his brash attentions. Faraam's teeth released the bruise on his collarbone as he suddenly took hold of Ornstein's hips and effortlessly flipped him so that he lay on his belly. “Wha-”, was all he could say when he felt his hips being lifted in the air and something wet – _oh by the sun, his_ tongue – was forced into his hole without any warning. This was the moment the knight lost all control over his body, a deep moan escaping him as his muscles turned to jelly and his eyes lost focus. It felt so good, his cock was already leaking and he began to drool, completely submitting to the other man. The God licked and fingered him until he was relaxed and open, then the knight felt some sort of liquid being poured over his hole, shuddering and biting back another moan when he felt some of the liquid trail down his walls into the depth of his body. “Are you ready to get properly fucked, Ornstein?”, a husky voice purred into his ear. “Y- you bet...” he groaned, feeling lightheaded and yearning to be touched.

“I will make you feel so good,” Faraam proclaimed with a growl that sounded like thunder to Ornstein's dizzy mind. He found it so arousing to let the taller man have his way with his body that he may or may not have entertained a fantasy of Faraam taking him against his will, fucking him into submission. When the thick head pressed into him at last, Ornstein's muscles violently contracted around the cock and he came with a surprised cry, his orgasm turning his vision white for a moment. Faraam paused, halfway inside of him and panting. “Woah there...that was quick. Are you alright?”, he asked, a hint of concern in his breathy voice. “Urgh...k-keep going, please...”, Ornstein groaned, pushing his hips back for emphasis. He did feel slightly overstimulated, but the thought of having Faraam's dick in his ass was almost enough to make him hard again. He loved him so much, and he desperately wanted to please him. “If you say so”, the God shrugged and continued to push further in, moaning when he felt the muscles contract around him. “Oh, by the sun, you are so sinfully tight...”, he groaned, digging his fingers so hard into Ornstein's hips that it would surely leave bruises.

It took him a while to completely enter the smaller man, and when he was fully sheathed at last, the knight felt so full he could burst. It felt absolutely wonderful, they were as close to each other as physically possible. He felt Faraam's cock twitch inside of him as he held himself back to give the knight time to adjust, and Ornstein made use of the time to roll his hips, trying to get Faraam's dick to hit his sweet spot. Faraam noticed and playfully slapped his ass. “I see you have experience”, he teased, “what a naughty little lion.” Then, as if to punish him, he pulled out almost completely and immediately slammed back in to the hilt, setting a fast and brutal pace that made Ornstein's body slide back and forth on the ground. “I will teach you that you're _mine_ , you little wench”, he growled, “you want me to hit your spot? That can be arranged!”. He rotated Ornstein's hips in his grip until a particularly high pitched moan told him that he'd found his goal. The knight felt overwhelmed by his lust and he completely let go of every semblance of control he'd still retained, shamelessly moaning as his prostate received a good pounding. It felt so good, he never wanted it to end. “...yes, Yes, YES!”, Faraam groaned, burying himself to the hilt as he shot his hot seed deep into the other man. “Come for me, Ornstein!”, he commanded breathlessly. This was all it took to make Ornstein's eyes roll back into his head, spilling all he had left onto the already impressive puddle below him. Then, the oncoming afterglow filled his ears with whitenoise and his vision with a fuzzy warm light.

When he came back to his senses, he realized that his head was lying on Faraam's chest and the God was soothingly petting his hair. They were reclined against the bed. “How... how long was I unconscious for?”, the knight asked hoarsely. Faraam kissed the top of his head. “Only for about five seconds. I hope I did not hurt you?”, he asked. The knight shook his head. “No, this has happened to me before, you did not hurt me. In fact you made me feel quite good”, he teased with a mischievous grin, tiredly reaching up to pull Faraam's ear, “but if you ever call me a _wench_ again, I shall flip you around and teach you some manners, you brute”. Faraam laughed heartily. “And here I was just about to compliment your singing voice, dear Ornstein. I liked the song you sang tonight, you should sing it more often”, he purred. Ornstein felt himself blush despite everything they had just done. “You are a menace,” he sighed, but as he closed his eyes and snuggled up against Faraam, he felt pure, unclouded happiness lull him into a peaceful sleep.

                                                                                                         

 


	4. The dragon's name

“Please take me with you!”, the knight begged. “I already told you, I cannot. This mission requires flight, and none of my dragons are willing to carry you”, Faraam muttered. “This means that you will have to stay here for now, or fly by yourself. Can you fly, Ornstein?”

Ornstein gave him a joyless laugh. “Of course I cannot. But I don't understand why they would still resent me after I already risked my very life to apologize to them. What else will I have to do?” Faraam placed his hands on the knights shoulders.

“Listen to me. I will allow you to spar with the dragons while I'm gone. If you cannot earn their respect by apologizing, perhaps demonstrating your skills in a friendly match will change their minds”, he suggested.

“You... you want me to _fight_ the dragons? Are you aware that they will just roast me and claim it to be an accident?”, Ornstein complained. “They are just waiting for an opportunity, I can see it in their eyes!”

“And _this_ is why they won't trust you! Have you learned nothing, boy?” Faraam shot him an annoyed glare. “How are they supposed to trust you while you still hate their guts? Now stop complaining, get your armor and go to them already. I have a war to win.” The God ruffled his knights hair in a rather condescending manner and hopped onto his stormdrake, soaring off to glorious battle while Ornstein glared daggers at his back. “This is unbelievable”, he scoffed, but he still turned to get his equipment.

 

It felt so good to finally wear his armor again, to hide all of his insecurities behind the lions unyielding snarl. He would beat the everlasting _shit_ out of these dragons! With his spear in hand, he trotted to the old Colosseum where several dragons were lounging in the sun.

“Come to slay us at last, _Dragonslayer_?”, a mocking voice rang from above. “No. I've come here to challenge one of you to a sparring match, since my skills are getting rusty on this desolate mountain”, he snapped. “So, who of you is up for a good fight? Or are the lot of you still scared of my shadow?” he grinned. “Ha! I will wipe that smugness off your face, little lion! Finally I can punish you for all you've done!”, a young looking Dragon yelled and landed in the arena.

 

“Don't kill him, it'll anger the King”, another, older Dragon warned the youngster. “Do you have a name?”, Ornstein asked his contender. “I like to know my challengers by name before I throw them into the dust.”

“You have the nerve...”, the Dragon growled. “I _might_ tell you my name in the very unlikely case of my defeat! Now fight, kitten!” _Kitten?! How dare he!_ The other dragons watched with amusement as Ornstein pretended to take the bait and charged directly at him, only to change direction in the last second, leaping up high into the air. The dragon's mind was clouded by wrath and he did not anticipate his rivals change of course, his jaws snapping closed around empty air. Ornstein was fast as lightning, bringing the blunt side of his spear down onto the dragons head and immediately jumping away again, making the dragon hit himself on the head with his own claws.

The other dragons got interested in the fight, most of them were cheering on the young dragon while some simply watched in silence. The young dragon grew more and more frustrated. The knight was simply too fast, circling him in the most annoying way and stinging occasionally like a wasp would do with a bull. Ornstein knew that he would have quickly killed this dragon in a real fight, but in a sparring match like this, he did not want to use lightning. Too great was his concern that he could accidentally badly injure the dragon.

His weapon was not really suited for clubbing enemies unconscious, and so he had no way to defeat the dragon but to rely on his own endurance and speed, hoping the dragon would tire before him. At one point, he even held on to the dragons tail, making him chase it like a hound. This caused violent laughter from the other dragons, only enraging the young dragon more. The fight grew more and more dangerous by the second, and Ornstein was sure that he would be killed, should he lose. There was fire everywhere and he could feel his own exhaustion start to creep up on him. He had to end it, now. With a valiant dash, he zig zagged around the dragons legs, dodging several claw swipes and hauling the blunt side of his spear at the dragons temple with all of his might. The blow connected, and the dragon emitted a pitiful roar as he hit the dirt.

There was silence in the Colosseum. Ornstein felt thoroughly exhausted, sitting down on the ground next to the unconscious dragon and trying to catch his breath. When he looked up at the other dragons, he was delighted to see not _only_ hatred in their eyes. Some of them, especially the younger ones, showed clear signs of admiration. “You kept your word”, a rumble next to him ripped him out of his thoughts. The young dragon had regained consciousness, lifting himself up with some effort to stand on wobbly legs. Ornstein regarded him with caution, but the dragon bowed his head. “You have defeated me in a fair fight, you have not even used lightning, even though I have tried to kill you. I am grateful to you, as you did not resort to the same foul play as I. I apologize for letting my wrath command my actions”, he grumbled.

 

The knight got to his feet and returned the bow. “It has been an honor to fight you...”, he began, clearly waiting for the dragon to tell his name. The dragon laughed. “My name, huh? Well, little creature, I believe you earned to know it. My name is... Nidraa”, he huffed, gazing at the Dragonslayer with his golden eyes.

“A beautiful name”, Ornstein mumbled absentmindedly, distracted by the equally beautiful eyes. He did not know what it was, but there lay so much in those eyes. In the past, he always had to keep himself from looking at them, for they'd distracted him in battle. Nidraa laughed earnestly then, a deep, rumbling sound, almost like a bell. “You are not as rotten as I thought, small knight. But know this: None of us will ever carry you into battle, for that honor belongs to our King alone”, he droned.

“It is alright”, Ornstein answered. He had not expected anything from them. “I will just have to grow my own wings then, right?”, he laughed. Stunning the dragon into silence. “You are aware that this is possible, little knight, aren't you?”, Nidraa asked, laying down to resume his sunbath. “Yes, I have seen the people who attempted this. They turned to stone and gained nothing from it”, he sighed, carefully sitting down next to the dragon, but Nidraa did not seem to mind. There was nothing that brought people together like a good fight.

“You see, Ornstein, there is a _secret_ to it. You do not simply take the stones and turn into a dragon. It takes so much more than that”, he rumbled. Before the fight he had seemed so young and inexperienced, but Ornstein found that even a young dragon was rather wise when compared to... anyone else, really. Why had he never talked to them before? Suddenly he wasn't even sure if they had been _able_ to talk back in the age of dragons. He had not heard any voices among them, only roars and other beastly sounds. _Perhaps it was me who simply could not understand them_ , he mused.

“Will you tell me the secret?”, he tentatively asked the dragon, not sure if he should push him any further, for their friendliness was rather fresh still. But the dragon only laughed, a subdued, content chuckle, as he enjoyed the warm beams of the sun. “I cannot, for I have always been a dragon. You will have to find it for yourself, or ask your King, for that matter. But why would _you_ of all people want to turn into a dragon, little lion?”, Nidraa asked with serious interest. Ornstein pondered the question with a furrowed brow. “If I am honest, I do not wish to. But it seems I cannot be of any use to my King like this. His enemies are no longer dragons whose bane is lightning, and he rides into battle on the storms where I cannot follow. All I ever wished for was to serve him, and if I was a dragon, _I_ could carry him into battle instead of waiting for him in this desolate place, always fearful that he might not return”, he admitted. Nidraa thought about this for a while, before finally saying: “A noble idea, it truly is. For you know well that once a dragon, you will never be able to turn back. Would you really want to spend your life as a creature you hate?”

“I do not hate you”, Ornstein quickly assured him. “I once did, but my Master is your ally now, and so am I.” More quietly, he added: “Also, it seems my previous hatred was misplaced. _We_ were the ones who attacked you and started the war”. Nidraa smiled at him. _Dragons could smile?_ “I am surprised to find that you are really not _all_ that bad. Let us fight again tomorrow, small lion. Time will tell if perhaps _I_ can help you to better serve your Master.”

 

From that day on, they had sparred almost every day and Ornstein won every time. But one stormy autumn day, Nidraa finally managed to pin him to the ground under one of his claws, rendering him unable to move. With a roar of triumph, the dragon spit a pillar of raging flame into the sky. “It looks like I finally got you, kitten”, he teased, “if your enemy memorizes your moves, you are done for.” Ornstein rolled his eyes. “You see, my enemies are usually _dead_ after one match”, he laughed as he shoved the dragons claw away from him, ”but you have grown to be rather swift, Nidraa. Congratulations on your hard earned victory.” The young dragon suddenly looked him straight in the eye. “I have thought long and carefully about it. I hereby offer to serve as your mount when you accompany the King into battle,” he declared. The knights smile fell and he looked at the dragon with wide eyes.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, it would be a great honor to ride on your back, but won't the other dragons be displeased with you?”, he asked. “They will respect my decision. We dragons are free spirited beings, slavery and the enthrallment of minds that is common in _your_ culture is nonexistent in _ours_. So don't worry, I might be young compared to some of the others, but I can decide for myself”, Nidraa explained. Ornstein couldn't help but smile at the idea of such a free society. He had never known anything else than serving and devoting his whole life to someone more important than himself, and now he wondered what it must be like to be born as a dragon – free, able to fly wherever one pleases, untroubled by the heavy chains of social structures and dogma. “You truly are amazing, Nidraa. All of you”, he mumbled. “I cannot believe I tried to drive you to extinction. And – thank you. For your offer.” He carefully hugged the dragons neck, laughing at himself for how ridiculous it must have looked. He was barely able to reach around it with his arms.

“I am so glad you came, Ornstein”, the dragon purred. “For ages, I was burning with hatred of you and your kind, but this hatred was surprisingly easy to let go of when I realized I did not know you at all”. “I feel exactly the same”, the knight exclaimed,” it surely is strange to see how harmful ignorance can be, right? I wonder what the world would look like, if we had come to be friends from the very start”. “Yes”, the dragon mused, “I wonder too”.

 

“You won't believe what just happened”, Ornstein proclaimed with a shit eating grin as he stood in the window of the King's Quarters. Faraam looked at him rather unimpressed while chewing a mouthful of apple, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Our good friend Nidraa agreed to let me ride him into battle so I may finally accompany you, your highness”, he bowed theatrically. “Nidraa? Fho if fhat?”, the King chewed around his apple with a look of suspicion on his face. “One of your dragons, oh _dragon lord_? One of the younger ones, with the dark spikes and the blueish hue on his back. He has a habit of tilting his head when he speaks and -” “NIDRAA!”, the King screamed in laughter, “he has tricked you into calling him Nidraa? This is hilarious, Ornstein!” He brought his fist down on the table with such a force that the remainder of his apple slices were thrown into every possible direction. “Oh, it looks like you just made me spoil my food. Well done, knight. Care to get me something else?”, the God teased him.

“What- his name is not _Nidraa_ then?”, Ornstein stuttered, suddenly feeling mortified for having been tricked. “ _Nidraa_ , my dear knight, means _Master_ in the tongue of the dragons. This smart little lizard tricked you into addressing him as _Master_ without you even suspecting a thing. This is truly amazing”, he laughed, shaking his head. “But to be fair, it was to be expected. He has always hated you with a passion. ...Is something the matter?”, he asked as Ornstein turned around with what looked suspiciously like a pout on his face. Without paying the King any further notice, the knight ran towards where Ni- _the dragon_ used to reside most of the time.

 

“How dare you!”, he screamed as he approached the huge beast. The dragon lifted his head and regarded him with a look of surprise. “I- I was just told that Nidraa is not even your real name! You have tricked me into calling you _Master_ all the time! How dare you do this to me? I thought we were friends!”, the lion roared. He did not care if there were tears of rage in his eyes, he had worked so hard to make amends with his greatest enemy, to finally come to _trust_ one of them, but now he had been told that he had been _tricked_ all along. _This is so degrading, the dragon has been mocking me all the time! I should have known_ , he thought. “Ah, I see you have finally figured it out. After all this time”, the dragon smiled sheepishly. “What can I say... I'm sorry that I've tricked you, it seemed like an entertaining idea at first. But when I got to know you and we became friends, the situation became more and more awkward, and then I did not know when to tell you. I was afraid you would get mad”, the dragon admitted.

“Are you saying that you've been too much of a coward to righten your mistake? I surely am glad the King told me of your trickery, for you would have mocked me for all eternity if given the chance!”, he declared, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ornstein, I truly am sorry, but it is just a name. Why are you so angry?”, the dragon carefully tried. “Because”, the knight growled, “I _thought_ I finally made a friend with my life long enemy, only to find out that my offer of peace was never even taken seriously! Are you laughing at me behind my back, with your dragon friends?” “Ornstein, please calm down”, the dragon rumbled. “While it is true that Nidraa is not my true name, I did not think anything of it. It was simply a jest, one that lasted way longer than intended and one I came to deeply regret. I do value you as a friend, I even offered to serve as your mount. Is this not proof enough that I value our friendship?”, he asked.

 

“At this point, I am just waiting to discover the next unpleasant surprise”, Ornstein grumbled, “there seem to be _plenty_ in this place. I might forgive you if you tell me your true name, and if you promise that there is nothing else that I should know of that would upset me greatly”. The dragon sighed. “I'm so sorry, I did not expect you to get so worked up over a name. But then, you were widely known for your pride, right? My true name, little lion, is Praan. Praan as in _evening wind_.” “I don't speak your tongue, it could mean anything”, the knight replied coldly. “Oh please, Ornstein. I already apologized, is there nothing I can do to cheer you up? You're starting to look as mean as your helmet”, Praan muttered.

“I just don't know if I can trust you”, the knight sighed, letting his gaze roam over the clouds that surrounded the platform. “You _can_ trust me. And to prove it to you, we will take our first ride together right now”, the dragon smiled. “I am truly sick of your complaints. So hop on and hold on tight, you will never complain again.” Ornstein felt a murky kind of fear rise up in his heart as the dragon lowered his neck for him to grab onto. He knew that there had been cases in which dragons had been tamed and ridden by men, pygmies even, but these had been no real dragons, rather drakes. His own Master rode dragons, but he was a God of war and could probably ride everything he wished to. And while it was true that he himself had jumped onto the backs of dragons to kill them in the war, they had always been much closer to the ground. There was no way he would survive a fall from _this_ height if the dragon chose to throw him off mid-flight.

 

Suddenly Ornstein felt very small, like he could just be tumbled off of the platform like a dry leaf. Tentatively, he reached for the spikes on the dragons spine, grabbing them and hauling himself up in one fluid move. As soon as his feet left the solid ground, he desperately wanted it back under him, but there was no going back now. He would learn to ride this dragon for his Master, his King, his God, to accompany him into battle and serve him like he deserved to be served. As if sensing his fear, Praan said: “Don't be afraid, little lion, for you and I are friends and I would never let you fall. I do advise you to hold on tight, though. Are you ready?” “I suppose I am”, Ornstein sighed, holding on as if his life depended on it and longingly casting one last glance towards the solid ground.

“Then let's go!”, the dragon cheered, running towards and diving off of the platforms edge. Ornstein held on with everything he had, his face contorted in a snarl and his eyes pressed shut as the air rushed past them and his stomach jumped into his throat. Only when the dragon's wild dive turned into a calm sailing did he dare to open his eyes. He had not been thrown off yet, the dragons shimmering skin still solid beneath his fingers. As he lifted his gaze, his fear instantly dissipated and was replaced by pure amazement: The clouds passed under them like a fluffy white sea, the evening sky was still bright enough for him to see well, but the first stars had come out and the fair full moon illuminated everything in a soft, almost dreamy light. He listened to the wind as it swept his ponytail back, watched the snow covered mountaintops float by like little islands that stuck out of the sea of clouds. The world seemed truly at peace.

 

“It's so beautiful”, he whispered, not daring make any loud noises out of fear that it all would disappear like an early morning dream. He had lived for ages, but apparently there were still things he had not yet experienced. They sailed weightlessly in the evening breeze, the air still warm in the early autumn. Ornstein released his death grip, he found it surprisingly easy to hold on with his legs alone. “I cannot believe that you get to see this all the time. How unfair”, he playfully slapped the dragons neck. “Ha, but you will get to see this more often from now on, if you want to”, the dragon rumbled, “it will be war, though, and storms. Not a peaceful scenery like this”. “Can we take a look beneath the clouds?”, Ornstein asked, suddenly curious of what the world had come to look like in his absence. “If you wish to”, Praan said, adjusting his wings and lowering his neck to dive through the clouds.

For a moment, Ornstein could not see anything, only white. He had always wondered what clouds looked like from the inside, and now that he knew, he found it rather underwhelming. It was cold, wet and he couldn't see. Thankfully, they soon emerged again and Ornstein finally got to see the landscape beneath: It was less beautiful than the scenery before by far. War torn countries, dead kingdoms and hollow infested cities as far as he could see. The forests were enshrouded by an unsettling darkness as if even nature herself had turned poisonous and undead. Only a few, lighter spots on the landscape below marked the kingdoms that had yet to be overrun by hollows, places where the curse of undeath still lay dormant or was kept at bay by clerics and knights. But if viewed from a distance, these places slowly seemed to lose the battle.

“Where does our King go to war?”, Ornstein wondered, feeling unwell at the sight below them. “Our King watches over his warriors always,” the dragon hummed, “I am sure you know this. He goes to where people have faith in him, to aid them in this dying world. To be there for them as a beacon, a _sun_ even, where there is only darkness left. And isn't it strange?”, Praan laughed, “ His warriors prevail throughout the ages, aiding each other under _his_ banner without even knowing the king's name anymore, or his face. His statues have been smashed, his name erased from history itself, there is no way for them to know him. And yet, they never forget. What is it they remember, I wonder? What else is there to a person but their name and face?” “He's a God”, Ornstein whispered with a smile, “you cannot look at the sun, for it shines too bright, and yet you know what the sun looks like, you _feel_ it's warmth.” He lifted his gaze towards the burning horizon and closed his eyes, because he felt sick of the sight below. “Even if they cannot see him, Praan... they _feel_ him like they feel the sun.”

 

 

When they returned to the temple, dawn had already painted the stones in a rosy hue, almost giving it the appearance of a crumbling princess' castle under a baby blue sky. After spending the whole night flying on the dragons back, Ornstein felt quite wobbly on his legs, having to lean against Praan for a moment while regaining the feeling in his legs. “You surely clamped down on my neck”, Praam chuckled”, it's no surprise you cannot walk. But you did well for your first flight.” Ornstein looked into the golden eyes. “I am deeply sorry for accusing you of betrayal yesterday, Praan. I should not have gotten so angry over such a simple thing. Thank you for taking me to fly with you, my friend, it really opened my eyes”, he said. “I am glad you liked it. And you are not even as heavy as I imagined. Perhaps because you did not wear your armor. But even with armor, we will manage”, the dragon winked.

After Praan had laid himself to sleep, Ornstein stalked back to his own room on stiff legs. For the first time in his life, he had seen the world through the dragon's eyes, so far above all the worldly troubles that lay below. He felt a different man. When he entered his room, he was surprised to find Faraam there, waiting for him. “Ah, Ornstein. I wondered when I'd see you again”, he yawned. “Where have you been? I've been unable to find you last night.” Ornstein looked to the ground as a happy smile fought its way onto his face. “You see, Lord Faraam, the dragon I mentioned yesterday... his name is Praan. He took me for a ride on his back last night, and we only returned just now. I apologize for having been unavailable. Does – does this mean I may accompany you to your next battle?”, he asked hopefully.

Faraam regarded him with a thoughtful expression. “Well, there is really nothing speaking against it, is there? So yes, you may”, he shrugged. Ornstein's face lit up as he basically fell forwards to draw the God into a hug. “Thank you!”, he beamed”, I promise I will not disappoint you, my Lord.” When he felt Faraam's hands squeeze his butt, he halted. “Eh- “ he looked at the King, “is... _this_ the reason you've been looking for me, my Lord?”, he carefully asked. The King nodded gravely, as if he'd been talking about something very serious. “But I understand that you must be tired, Ornstein, after riding out all night...?”, he asked. “No, I- I am not _that_ tired, Lord Faraam-” “Do not call me _Lord_ while I fuck you, that sounds an awful lot like I'm abusing my power”, the King laughed, “in fact, you don't have to address me with those fancy titles at all, didn't I tell you? Just using my name will suffice”. “But Faraam, you are a God! You deserve nothing less”, Ornstein protested but he was quickly silenced with a kiss.

“Being addressed with my name, even if it's not my original name, is already a huge privilege to me. To the world, I am nothing but a nameless King anymore, so having someone call me by my name makes me feel at home”, his solemn expression turned mischievous as he laughed: “And this is my beautiful home, Ornstein, and you are my beautiful wife-” he got punched in the side, ”ouch- you are my beautiful _knight_ , and my beautiful dragons are waiting outside to rip invaders to shreds! Now come here and please your Lord, peasant!”

“If you call me your wife once more...”, Ornstein warned, but he was smiling as he tackled Faraam and they tumbled into the bed.

 

When the Lord was finally sated and the peasant properly exhausted, they stayed in bed to cuddle some more, even though it was already noon. “Faraam, how... how can you be like this?”, Ornstein asked, lazily scratching the God's chest like one would do to a cat. “Be like what?”, Faraam yawned, clearly enjoying the attention. “You are acting so immature sometimes, you are carefree and joking around, even though the world around us is quite literally _dying_. How- where do you _take_ that from?”, the knight asked with furrowed brows. He knew well that Faraam only showed this side of him to a few, chosen people. To the rest of the world, he was a fearsome God of war without a name and without any qualms of killing beasts and people alike by the thousands, who did not hesitate or show mercy when dealing killing blow after killing blow. But at the same time, he could be a giggling pile of joy that called Ornstein his beautiful wife while hitting him with a pillow like a twelve year old child.

Faraam's voice interrupted his train of thoughts, reminding him that he had asked him a question: “Does my behavior bother you, Ornstein? Tell me the truth, please, and I will try to tone it down a bit”, he said. The knight's eyes grew wide. “Wha-? No, not at all my Lord! I mean, Faraam. I love you just the way you are, and I would never ask you to change. I was just wondering... how can you be so cheerful? Where do you take that energy from?”

“Let's see,” Faraam smiled, “a part of it I take from here”, he pointed at Ornstein's heart, “and another part from up there”, he pointed at the sun”, another huge part I take from the faith of my followers who somehow never forgot me, and, while exile is supposed to be a punishment, I take another huge part of energy from the incredible freedom I have up here with the dragons”, he explained, “Oh! And the most important part I take form here!” He stuck his finger in his ear and grinned. “Disgusting!”, Ornstein laughed. “Haha, yes, but these are the things that make me happy, that give me a reason to exist. The men and women who have faith in me, the glorious dragons who taught me what really matters in life, the blazing sun and my little lion knight who followed me to the end of the world.”

 

“Ah”, the knight mused, “so you are acting so childish because you are happy?” Faraam sighed through his nose. “To be very honest with you, my _dearest_ Ornstein, I feel compelled to jest and play pranks on you. You tend to be too serious for your own good, for _anyone's_ good. There is more to life than just following orders and strictly addressing people with their correct titles and whatnot. We are _free_ up here, finally free of all the etiquette and rules and social norms and _idleness_ that plagued us in Anor Londo, and here you are: desperately holding on to your chains, unwilling to let them go. Holding the collar closed around your neck with your hands, although the lock has long been torn off. Why? We can go to war and fuck and ride dragons and do whatever we want to do, all day, all night. We can do what we are _meant_ to do, not rot away in some castle.”

“Faraam...”, Ornstein began with a frown, but he was interrupted: “Do you know why the people still believe in me, despite remembering neither my name nor face? I _do_ things! I have a cause, a purpose, a passion! Deed's cannot be erased as easily as names. My followers gaze at the sun and they know that _I_ will be there for them when they need me, and even if they cannot see me, I watch over them! Even if I cannot physically join _all_ of them in battle, someone else will in my name, under my banner! And this can never be taken away from me! Even if _officially_ I am a god no more, I still _am_ the God of war, and to war the fuck I go!”

By now, Faraam was sitting upright in his bed, a fist balled like he had just given a speech to the armies of the world. “Oh dear”, Ornstein muttered, rolling his eyes. But he finally understood the secret of Faraam's nameless fame. Perhaps it needed a character like Faraam's to be content like this while giving so much and being given so little. Even if the God happened to physically join someone in battle, the person wouldn't even recognize him. They would just believe him to be another member of the covenant who bore the God's presence. Nobody sung praises to his name, he had no servants but the ones who willingly came traveling to serve him, there were no fancy feasts or big festivities in his name. He just lived his cause without compromise, and that seemed to be all he needed. _He truly is the greatest of all Gods,_ Ornstein thought while a tear of admiration rolled down his cheek. _If only he'd cease his childish behavior and act like he does on the battlefield all the time..._

 

“I suppose you're secretly wishing for me to cease my childish behavior and act like I do on the battlefield, right?”, Faraam asked, laughing at Ornstein's shocked expression. “Well, if you wish for something dearly, that can be counted as a prayer, and as your God, that prayer will be received by none other than me”, he winked. Ornstein looked like he was about to faint. “But, if it calms your nerves, this time it was really just a wild guess”, the God laughed. Ornstein desperately hoped this was the truth. He had never thought about it that way. What else did Faraam know about him? But wait- this could not be! A prayer had to be specifically directed at the deity in order to be received by them! “You're lying to me”, the knight grumbled. “And you fell for it”, Faraam smiled, patting him on the shoulder. “As I said, it is just so much fun to tease you. The faces you make are just too entertaining, it's a shame you hide them behind that helmet of yours all the time.”

“I am glad it pleases you to see me in distress”, Ornstein yawned as he sunk back against the pillows. “But if you don't mind, I really would like to get some sleep now that we are done here.” “Now you make it sound like a chore”, Faraam pouted, but he laid down as well, spooning the knight and wrapping his arm around his waist. “Good knight, sleep tight”, he kissed the top of his head. “You are such a child”, Ornstein ground his teeth in exasperation as he closed his eyes.

 


	5. Monster hunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore? What lore? Never heard of it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The day that Ornstein had impatiently waited for had finally arrived: He was about to go to battle with his master and his happiness could not have been greater. It was a beautiful morning as they put on their armor and checked their weapons for faults one last time. “Now Ornstein, today it will be no war, but rather a monster hunt. Nothing grand. Are you certain you still wish to accompany me?”, the King asked his knight as they mounted their respective dragons. “There is nothing in the world I'd rather do, my friend”, Ornstein smiled behind his leonine mask.

“Then off we go, my faithful first knight! Follow my lead”, the God yelled when his great beast took to the skies. Praan followed closely behind the other dragon and Ornstein looked at his King with starstruck eyes, for he looked truly majestic on that drake of his: His silver hair and scarf whipped behind him in the wind, streaming through the air and his golden armor and crown caught the light of the rising sun. If someone ever had truly looked like a God, it was Faraam. As they kept flying and Ornstein began to wonder how long it would take them to reach their destination, he noticed that the weather had started to change. The sunny morning sky grew more cloudy by the minute, and soon there was a storm raging all around them, pushing against their backs and blowing them forwards with incredible speed. Ornstein held on for his dear life while Praan was fighting to not be tossed around like a leaf. 

A quick glance ahead showed Ornstein that Faraam's stormdrake glided through the cloudy mess with ease, it's four wings providing enough stabilization against the unpredictable gusts. It was built for flying in storms, but Praan was not. Ornstein's dragon only had two leathery wings, no feathers and appeared to be rather inexperienced at flying in this type of weather. “Are you sure you can handle this, Praan?”, the knight yelled as he desperately tried not to lose his grip on the scales that were slippery from the rain. At this rate, they would be lucky to even reach the battlefield at all, but he was not sure if they would have any strength left for the fight itself if they ever got there. “Do not worry, we almost made it”, the dragon bellowed, pushing forwards and never losing sight of the God.

And he was right: As sudden as the storm had come, it was gone again, vanishing into thin air as the warm rays of the sun pierced the dark clouds like giant spears of light. “That was awful”, the knight muttered with a hoarse voice, “I hope there won't be another storm on the way back home”. He was tired, soaked and almost deafened from the thunder that had accompanied them, and judging by the way Praan dragged his wings through the air, the storm had taken a toll on him as well. “It wasn't that bad, little knight. And we will likely have to brave this storm again if we are to make our way home, for this is the way our King travels. Without the storm blowing us forwards, it would have taken us days to get to our destination instead of a few hours,” Praan huffed. Ornstein let himself sink down onto the dragon with a groan.

“Why didn't he warn us? I was completely unaware that there would be a storm”, he mumbled as he lay on his belly, letting his arms and legs dangle from each side of the dragons neck. “And if you knew, Praan, why did you agree to it? You are not a storm drake, didn't you know this kind of weather would give you trouble?”, he asked. Praan looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Of course I knew. I agreed because you are my friend and you so dearly wished to follow our King into battle. Don't you remember?” Ornstein gazed down at the landscape through hooded eyes, feeling his mood sink even further at how dreary and hopeless everything looked.

“...of course, Praan. I should not complain”, he sighed, “it's just – back in the age of dragons, Lord Faraam always used to tell me _everything_ about the oncoming battle. The strategy, the parties involved, his predictions for the outcome... he used to be my teacher back then, he taught me everything I know and he'd always made sure I had understood _everything_ before we even left the camp. But now, he doesn't even seem to care if we fall out of the sky, he did not even turn around _once_ during the storm.”

The dragon gave a thoughtful hum. “Do you trust me, Ornstein?”, he asked.

“You know I do”, the knight grumbled.

“So does he. He knows that while I am young and not a stormdrake, I am more than capable of braving this weather. To me, the most dangerous thing in a storm is the lightning, but since he controls the storm, no lightning will hit us. It is really just wind and rain, Ornstein. Just leave the flying to me, your part is about to begin when we land”, the dragon assured him. Ornstein noticed that the stormdrake had slowed down, waiting for them. When Praan caught up with him and sailed right by his side, the King spoke to them in a loud voice: “We have almost reached our destination! We will land on the rocky plateau to the northwest, the one with the castle ruins to it's left. I have received a prayer from a group of knights that are about to face a monster from the encroaching Abyss and we will come to their aid! Are you prepared to fight?”

“I'm ready, my Lord!”, Ornstein proclaimed, and the dragons took a dive towards the plateau. They landed in a place that was well hidden by jagged rocks and dead trees. Faraam jumped off of his drake and stretched, dragging a few branches onto a heap and carelessly setting them on fire with a lightning bolt. “Ah, much better. Come sit, Ornstein, you look properly drenched by the rain”, he commanded. The knight obeyed and sat down next to his King, grateful for the warm fire. “But won't the battle begin shortly?” he asked, not wanting to miss out on anything. “Well yes, but we will not be the ones to lead them into battle. I will not give any speeches before it begins and I will not stay to tend to the wounded when it is over. We will stay hidden and strike when the monster appears, and judging by the light, we still have some time until then”, the God explained. “By the light? Oh, the Monster from the Abyss will bring darkness with it, right?”, the knight asked.

“Indeed, it might get quite dark. In any case, we will notice. Now come here and take a look”, he beckoned him, getting up and walking towards the plateaus edge. He peeked over the rocks and pointed into the distance. Ornstein followed him and carefully stuck his head out over the rocks.

He could see a small town in the shadow of the castle ruins that seemed to be inhabited by, actual, living people. There were even some cows and sheep on the fields! It looked like a peaceful painting of an age long gone by, but as the knight let his gaze roam further west, his skin began to crawl: There, beyond the castle's shadow, lay an even darker shadow over the land. Or was it a hole? Fog? He couldn't tell, for it possessed it's own, unique kind of darkness that his eyes could not grasp. “Is this...”

“The Abyss, yes”, Faraam answered with a solemn face. “Only yesterday it reached the surface for the very first time. The earth simply crumbled away and gave way to it. I didn't even think that was _possible_ , but now these lands are doomed. Nothing can be done here, the people have to leave”.

“But... aren't we here to fight it?”, Ornstein asked forlornly as he tried to understand what was happening in front of him. It looked so unnatural, it was so dark even though the sun was still shining. Not even Artorias had been able to stop it...

 

The king took hold of his head and gently turned it a bit to the right so he was looking at a group of about two hundred people in arms who had gathered at the edge of the town. “Look. Over there, you can see the brave defenders.” He turned his head some more. “And over there, on the grassy plane that leads to the mountain road, you can see another hole in the ground, the one with a diameter of about fivehundred meters. It is not as deep or wide as the one before, but in this very hole the monster is lurking. Unfortunately, it is rather close to the only available route the townspeople would have to take to avoid the Abyss, and a few of them already attempted the escape. None made it, the monster afflicted them all and turned them into thralls. But this mountain road is the only way that is not blocked by the Abyss or the steep crags. Now, these warriors have gathered here to slay it, for if the people don't leave soon, the Abyss will swallow them along with the whole town”.

“Lord Faraam, but if it is only one single monster, should two hundred warriors not suffice to slay it?”, Ornstein asked with obvious confusion.

“As I said, the monster commands it's very own small army of afflicted thralls. Still, this is going to be an easy and probably even boring fight for us. We will see. But listen closely: Whatever you do, don't get too close to the monster or to _any_ of those holes and you must never, under any circumstances let one of the afflicted creatures touch you, do you understand?”, he insisted.

“Of course, my Lord. I promise to be careful”, the knight assured him. “Good. As we are speaking, I feel the beast move in it's hideout. Let us not tarry any longer, the fight is about to begin”, Faraam muttered, turning around and walking back towards his drake. Just as they took to the sky once more, Ornstein could see the warriors move out. As he soared above them on Praan's back, he counted ninety two knights among them, but the rest of the warriors bore ill fitting equipment and weapons that had clearly seen better days. About a third of the warriors were glowing with the incandescent aura of the sunlight covenant, a clear sign that they had let themselves be summoned to risk life and limb for other peoples safety. _They_ were probably the only reason his master had chosen to help at all, for he'd never much cared about civilians.

“Can they not see us, Praan?”, Ornstein asked with amazement as the dragons circled closely above the small army. “I am not sure, I don't really think they do”, the dragon said, “or else some of them would have looked at us by now. Humans are usually easily startled by dragons”. The earth shook, a deep trembling that was audible even to those in the air. The warriors grew restless, muttering among themselves and shifting uncomfortably in their gear as they approached the gaping hole in the ground. Ornstein was about to count the glowing Phantom-Knights once more, when suddenly there was a scream that instantly made his hair stand on end.

 

Out of the hole, a very long and thick neck emerged, suspending a comparably tiny, screeching head high in the air that seemed to suck the light out of it's surroundings, making it very difficult to see any detail on the monster. It almost looked like a sparsely furred snake of a deep black color, but the head appeared almost human with a very long face and close set, tiny red eyes. The warriors halted their approach and hurried to get into position. There were quite a few archers among them who positioned themselves at the very back of the group, trying to get onto somewhat higher ground. Thirteen knights that looked like walking bulwarks took to the front, hiding behind towering greatshields. Ornstein was relieved to see that these worthless peasants were at least _somewhat_ organized, for their form and equipment largely made a poor impression on him. He almost felt compelled to jump down from his dragon and beat some discipline into the slouching lot. The beast in the pit lifted it's head even higher and - _Oh by the sun, how disgusting!_ \- lot's of wiry, long appendages that looked suspiciously like spider legs emerged from the depth of the pit, covering the hole like a bush of thorns. Only by looking very closely Ornstein could see that these were actually tentacles – tentacles with thick, knobby joints and covered in thin spikes. Judging by the sheer number of tentacles and the way they almost filled the whole pit, the beast's body had to be huge in comparison to it's tiny head!

 

When the tentacles assumed an unmistakable attacking stance, Faraam turned and looked at his knight with a grin and Ornstein's world seemed to fall into slow motion. With a warcry that even surpassed the beasts screeching, he raised his swordspear high into the air and unleashed a cascade of lightning onto the beast's head as his drake charged forwards. As if they had heard him, the warriors bellowed their own warcries and attacked with a ferocity Ornstein would not have expected from them, for they had looked quite spiritless before. _Yes_ , Ornstein thought as he and Praan joined the King's assault with a roar of their own, still feeling suspended in slow motion, _you were created for moments like these, Gwynsen._ _You are the true God of war, and watching you makes me feel alive_. His eyes grew misty for he felt so endlessly happy and at peace to finally see his Lord fight once more. He was inspiring, really, and once again Ornstein realized that he truly loved him.

 

The dragons were breathing fire as Faraam and Ornstein pelted the beast with lightning, but suddenly the knight noticed that the hole in the ground had started to spit out the afflicted thralls Faraam had mentioned. They were quite numerous and threatened to swarm the small army with their sheer numbers, climbing on top of each other like monkeys. “I will take to the ground and help the warriors, Praan”, the knight called, “could you cover the King's back and wait for orders?” “As you wish, but be careful”, the dragon rumbled while he descended low enough for Ornstein to safely jump off. The knight readied his spear and leaped, landing with a sheer explosion of electricity that instantly killed several thralls in his close proximity. He cast one last glance at Faraam who was still attacking the beast and then he threw himself into the heat of battle. His spear struck like lightning strikes, impaling and electrocuting and stabbing and clubbing the abyssal thralls to death in a dance that was second nature to him, invisible to the oblivious warriors around him. His enemies were fast and swarming like ants, but he was faster. He was relieved to notice that he was apparently not _entirely_ invisible to the other warriors, for they made sure not to hit him. Having to dodge the attacks of _both_ parties would have been tiresome, and while nobody seemed to pay him any special attention or even looked at him, they seemed to be somewhat aware of his presence. Ornstein was glad to have made the decision to fight the thralls first, because without his help the small army might have been overrun rather quickly. He just hoped that Gw- _Faraam_ was doing all right, but he had no time to look for him.

 

After what felt like an eternity, the numbers of the thralls finally dwindled and he found a moment to catch his breath between the ever growing piles of corpses. When he searched the sky for Faraam, his breath got stuck in his throat: The beast had almost fully emerged from the pit and now he could see that the lengthy neck was attached to a bloated, misshaped and _huge_ body which was covered in red bulbs that looked somewhat like eyes – but he couldn't say for sure, because the lingering darkness still surrounded the creature like a black fog, turning day into night. Protruding from this body were several rows of spindly appendages that whipped through the air, trying to hit the two dragons who encircled it. Faraam was still pelting the creature with lightning, successfully distracting it to give the sluggish warriors more time to deal with it's minions.

When Praam noticed Ornstein's gaze, he came soaring and plucked the knight off of the ground with his claws. “I see you have brought the situation on the ground under control”, the dragon rumbled. “Lord Faraam asked me to fetch you because there is a problem: As you can see, he has been dealing grievous wounds to the monster, but it regenerates so fast that all his efforts have been for naught. He told me that the beast must have roots that reach down deep into the Abyss. We have to distract it so he can fly down and sever these roots if we ever wish to defeat it!” Ornstein's face paled a little as they flew over the pit and he got to take a closer look at it. Faraam would have to fly down _there_? Into the Abyss? Suddenly all he could think of was his friend Artorias, noble, brave Artorias who had tried to defeat the Abyss and had failed _miserably_. Ornstein had cried in his room the night he had been told of his friend's fate. Never again would he watch with idleness as a dear friend plunged himself into the Abyss. Not even Faraam who could _probably_ handle it.

“Praan... would you fly _me_ down there?”, he asked. Praan looked at him with wide eyes. “The King's orders for us are to distract it”, the dragon insisted. “Praan, we cannot risk losing our Lord to the Abyss! What if he becomes afflicted? What if he _dies_?”, Ornstein yelled. “If you don't wish to fly down, then drop me! I will sever the roots!”

“You will do no such thing!”, Faraam's voice thundered in his ear. The knight realized that they were in earshot, Praan was closely following the stormdrake again, dodging the erratic swipes of the beast's tentacles. “But Master! We cannot anticipate what will happen down there! Let _me_ do it, I am way less important than you!”, the knight pleaded. “Ornstein... do you have faith in me?” the God growled, turning his head to angrily stare at his knight. “Why, yes of course I do, but-”

“Then fucking OBEY! Distract this beast, now!”, the King roared, and then the stormdrake was already diving down, disappearing into the murky darkness along with his beloved King. Ornstein emitted a series of colorful curses, desperately trying to hold the beast's attention with lightning shots from his spear. It seemed to work at first, but suddenly Praan was hit by a tentacle and Ornstein could instantly see that the dragon had fallen unconscious, the lights smacked out of him by the impact. “Praan!”, he screamed, but his friend had already begun to plummet like a stone. Silent tears formed in Ornstein's eyes, for he knew that he could not save Praan. He simply lacked the physical strength to catch a falling dragon. No, he had to keep distracting the beast or Faraam would die as well. With a desperate cry, he leaped off the dragons back and landed on the beasts lumpy body. Now he could see that the red bulbs really _were_ eyes, and with a cry of pure rage, he started to plunge his spear into them. The beast screeched and writhed, trying to hit him, but he was too fast, dodging every strike as if he himself was made out of lightning.

His attacks had no lasting effect, though. Every wound, every gouge he managed to score regenerated in the span of a few seconds. Ornstein screamed in frustration, hacking away at the monster with everything he had, realizing with terror in his heart that his strength slowly started to leave him. He remembered Faraam's words, the warning to not touch the beast. But now, he was all but covered in the monsters blood which had seeped into his armor and was forming puddles inside of his boots. Just when he thought that this was it, that he finally had to give in to his exhaustion, the beast emitted a horrible cry, starting to ignore the knight and shifting it's attentions towards where Faraam was obviously hacking away at it's roots. “Oh no! You will _not_!”, the knight snarled, resuming his frantic attack on the beasts eyes and realizing with newfound hope that the wounds regenerated slower and slower, until they finally stayed. The beast obviously felt torn between attacking him or Faraam, it grew sloppy in it's attacks and finally started to show some signs of exhaustion itself.

An arrow whirred past Ornstein's head. Then, another one, followed by a whole cloud of arrows that the knight barely managed to dodge by hiding behind the beast's treetrunk of a neck. These worthless warriors had _finally_ pushed through towards the beast, advancing over an endless pile of dead thralls and other abyssal abominations. Had the beast stayed in the center of the pit, it would have been safe from the melee fighters at least, but apparently it was not that smart. With a gurgle, it focused it's attention on the army that kept hauling spells and arrows at it and moved to the edge of the pit, attacking them in close combat. Ornstein realized that he had managed to sever quite a few of the tentacles in his fervid rage, greatly limiting the monsters range. That was good. He felt tired and somehow this fight did not really interest him anymore, he wasn't even entirely sure why he fought this thing at all. His limbs felt heavy and the beast's blood made his skin burn. The knight fell to his knees, swaying with the erratic movement of the beast that fought for it's life until he finally fell down on his face and lost consciousness.

 

When he opened his eyes again, Ornstein felt himself floating. _Am I dead?_ , he thought, not really daring to move any of his limbs. “You are such a fool”, a voice hissed from above. He knew this voice. It was Gwynsen! “Gwynsen... I finally found you. I've been looking for you everywhere ...”, he wheezed, amazed to see the God's face above him. “Be still! We have to wash this blood off. And my name is Faraam”, the God growled. Slowly, the memories returned to the knight. He realized that he was floating on his back in one of the pools back at the temple and Gw- _Faraam_ was kneeling on the edge behind him, keeping his head above the waters surface with one hand while scrubbing off the dark blood, dissolving it with some sort of miracle. “What- what happened? Did we win?”, he asked, and then his heart almost stopped when he thought of his dragon. “...did Praan survive? He was struck and fell, and there was nothing I could do”, he mumbled with a crestfallen expression.

“The warriors managed to defeat the weakened beast and the town has already been evacuated”, the God told him joylessly. “As for Praan... he fell into the Abyss while we were severing the roots. He was lucky to be still young and small and that my stormdrake was nimble and strong enough to catch him. Otherwise he would not have survived.” The knight watched the God with a timid expression. He was obviously livid with anger and his face was truly scary to behold. Ornstein closed his eyes and tried to calm his breath. “I hope you are aware of the fact that you performed quite miserably today,” Faraam grunted, finally letting go of the knight's head and dragging him out of the pool. “I am so sorry, Master. I did not know what to do after Praan had fallen. I had no other possibility to distract the beast than to engage it in close combat”, he began, but Faraam slapped him across the face. “You don't even know what I am talking about do you”, he said in a very low voice that betrayed his seething rage.

Ornstein's green eyes moved left and right, desperately trying to remember what Faraam was talking about. He flinched when the God spoke again, louder this time: “You have disobeyed my orders, Ornstein! I had the damn dragon deliver the orders to you, but you decided that you knew _better_ than your Commander! You wanted to jump into the abyss, all by yourself, to sacrifice your life in some small monster hunt that was not only ridiculously easy to win, but also exhaustively unimportant!”, he yelled. “And then, you disobeyed my order to NOT touch the beast! You basically _drenched_ yourself in this monsters blood! Do you know how close I was to losing you to the Abyss? This is a whole new level of disappointment, you have _never_ disobeyed my orders before! What were you even _thinking_?”

“I- I just did not want you to risk your life for some worthless _peasants_ , Faraam! You could have been killed or corrupted!”, Ornstein yelled, but Faraam punched him hard in the face, making him fall to the ground. “These _worthless_ _peasants_ are my loyal followers! They are tiny beings, frail and chained to the darkness, and yet they never give up! They approached that beast with two hundred measly soldiers in a fight they never could have won by themselves! Their faith in me is a thousand times stronger than yours! You would do well to pay them some respect for a change!”, he roared, “If you had any faith in me, you would have known that I never was in any serious danger in this fight! Oh, and one thing I know for sure: I will never take you with me into battle again! You are no longer the fearsome lion I used to be so proud of! All those years of guarding Anor Londo like a _dog_ must have dulled your brain, so you will stay here and guard _this_ place like the dog you have become!” With a vicious snarl, the God ended his tirade and stomped away, leaving his knight to cower on the ground.

Ornstein held his bleeding nose and cast a glance towards the pool where the water had been tainted by the beasts blood, wondering how quickly he would die if he drank it all. But he was too tired. Nothing mattered any more, now that he had disappointed his master. So he stayed on the ground, listlessly staring at the wall and waiting for Faraam to return to finally kill him or send him away for good. He did not care that he was naked, that the air grew colder as the night fell, he didn't even go to visit Praan. All he felt was sorrow, for he knew that Faraam was right: He _had_ disobeyed his orders, had displayed a disgusting attitude towards Faraam's devoted followers and risked Praan's life with his mad request to have the dragon serve as his mount. When the sky turned dark, he finally was no longer able to hold back his tears, laying on the ground crying and shivering in the cold.

 


	6. An old friend visits

Ornstein must have fallen asleep at some point, for when he regained his senses, he was no longer laying next to the pool, and he no longer felt cold. Cracking open an eye, he found himself in the King's quarters, tucked into a ridiculous amount of blankets on his bed. Faraam sat next to him at the table, seemingly occupied with a bunch of scrolls. When he heard the knight shift behind him, he turned and wordlessly handed him a steaming mug of tea.

“I apologize for beating you”, the King muttered as he scribbled away at his scroll. “You were obviously out of your mind when you insulted my devoted warriors. I should not have treated you so harshly.” Ornstein watched him in silence for a while, warming his hands on the tea mug before asking: “...will you send me away?”

Faraam stopped writing. With a sigh, he turned around and sat next to his knight, pulling the pile of blankets into a tight hug. “Of course not. I... I was just so mad at you for trying to kill yourself like that. Had I not overheard your conversation with Praan and stopped you, you would be _dead_ by now”, he grimaced. Ornstein closed his eyes and rested his head against the other man's chest.

“I was just so afraid to lose you. And I loathe being afraid”, the God sighed, “it makes me angry”.

“If that is the case, Faraam, you cannot blame me for my actions, for I disobeyed you out of fear of losing you, too”, the knight muttered. “Do you remember the knight Artorias?” Faraam nodded.

“When Artorias went to face the Abyss”, the knight explained, “everyone including myself firmly believed that he would be victorious. He was no God, but he was utterly fearless in battle and it wouldn't have been the first time for him to make the impossible possible... I cannot imagine the surprise he must have felt when he discovered that not even _he_ was strong enough to defeat the encroaching darkness. Faraam, he reminded me of you, and I was afraid that you would get ahead of yourself while flying down there, that you would make the same mistake that he had made.”

Faraam kissed the top of his head before resting his chin on it. But the playful spark in his eyes had returned and he teasingly said: “Well then, it seems that you were reduced from a warrior to a clingy old woman. And old women do not belong on a battlefield, Ornstein, I'm sorry”.

“It is not like that!”, the knight growled, “And you are giving me mixed signals here. I thought you wanted me to think for myself and not only rely on orders?”

Faraam shook his head. “When I told you to loosen up, I meant for you to do it while we are _here_ , not on the battlefield. I don't care if you use any of my titles here, I don't want you to crawl before me like a slave. But when we go to battle, as your commander I expect you to obey my every order, do you understand?”, he asked. “Yes”, Ornstein pouted, “I am truly sorry for having disappointed you”.

“You are forgiven”, the God mumbled, petting his hair.

They sat like that for a while and sipped their tea, content in each others company.

“... I had a dream. I dreamed that I was somebody else that had come to this place, seeking to follow the path of the dragon...and looking for you”, Ornstein mused. “You were there with me, but I somehow couldn't see you. It felt as if you were always standing right behind me, no matter which way I turned. Is...this what it felt like to the warriors yesterday?” Faraam laughed. “Yes, I imagine this is what it must have felt like to them. They can feel my presence, but for a man without a name or face, it is far more appropriate to stay in the shadows and let his actions speak for him. You see”, he chuckled”, when you arrived, I played with the thought of hiding myself from you as well, just to see what you would do, but then I couldn't bring myself to do it.”

Before Ornstein could come up with a witty retort, their happy little tea time was interrupted by the unmistakable scream of a mortally wounded dragon. Both of them knew the sound well and scrambled to get to their feet, grabbing their weapons as they jumped out of the window. More screams followed the first and by now, the sound of battle was audible in the temple grounds.

“Intruders!”, the King shouted, whistling for his drake – but the drake did not show up. Faraam cursed and dashed forwards as fast as the wind, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. Ornstein bolted after him, feeling his heart clench in worry when he saw pillars of flame shoot to the sky, followed by another horrible scream. Something – or someone – was killing the dragons.

 

As they rounded the crumbling tower's corner, he almost did not believe his eyes at what he saw: The dusty platform in front of him was covered in the lifeless remains of many dragons and snake people, obviously in an ambush. Among them, he could see the king's stormdrake, laying there with contorted wings and a broken neck. The dragon's bodies were pierced by gigantic arrows that seemed terribly familiar: Dragonslayer arrows, the very ones he and his knights had used in the age of Dragons. But there was no enemy to be seen, was there? “Show yourself, coward!”, the God roared, his clenched fists buzzing with lightning.

Then, as if nothing in the world could bother him, a knight came walking along behind one of the huge carcasses, his dragontooth hammer slung lazily above one shoulder, a huge stone greatshield in his left hand. As if they had waited for his signal, several other knights who were clad in the same armor emerged from various spots on the platform, effectively surrounding the King and his knight.

“This is impossible”, Ornstein breathed with a shaky voice, for he knew these knights well: They were Havel's men and the knight who had appeared first was none other than Havel the Rock himself. They all looked the same, but Ornstein could have told the difference from a mile away by the unmistakable way Havel carried himself. The lion knight glanced at Faraam, uncertain of what to make of this situation. Faraam regarded Havel with a calm visage that betrayed no emotion. “What a surprise indeed, _old friend”_ , he muttered. “Are you aware that the dragons and snakes you and your men just murdered were my subjects?” The question was only rhetoric in nature, it was obvious that Havel was fully aware of the allegiances of all parties present. Ornstein could tell by the way the other knight's weapons were pointed at Faraam and himself; Havel had never forgiven the firstborn for allying with the dragons.

The bishops expressionless mask stared back at them as he lazily placed a foot on a decapitated drake's head. “You are a Lord no longer, King of nothing”, Havel drawled with a bored voice, “and therefore you _have_ no subjects. I must say you have hidden yourself well. It was quite the undertaking to track you down all the way to this desolate little hilltop of yours. But now we've got you cornered. The choice is all yours, nameless King. What will it be: Will you stand down and accept your execution with your dignity intact, or will we have to hunt you down and slaughter you like some rabid fox? I myself am fine with either, for I have dreamed for a long time of hunting a beast like yourself...” he took the weapon off of his shoulder and now Ornstein could see that it was brimming with occult energy, the bane of Gods. This weapon had most likely been specifically created to slay Faraam!

“Havel you traitor!”, Ornstein snarled, “how dare you threaten your former master like that! Do you not know that Lord Gwyn himself proclaimed occult weapons to be forbidden?”

“Ah, the valiant Ornstein. I had almost forgotten about you”, came the bishop's monotone voice. “I can only _wonder_ what you are doing here, without your armor and with all of those _aaawful_ bruises on your neck”, he cooed, making the lion blush in anger and shame. “You two are truly degenerates.” The bishop's knights laughed and elbowed each other, making kissy sounds and mocking gestures at the king and the lion knight. “Listen, Ornstein”, Faraam whispered quickly without ever taking his eyes off of Havel, hiding his mouth behind his scarf so Havel could not read the words off his lips, “we will provide these imbeciles with the hunt they so desperately wish for. I will pretend to attack, but as soon as I do this, you will run back to my quarters and put on your armor. I will distract them for a short time before disappearing myself and we will meet up on the highest tower to think of a strategy.”

Lowering his scarf again to cast an audacious smile at the bishop, Faraam slowly raised his weapon to the sky, relishing in his enemies reactions of fear and caution. “ _Dearest_ Havel... You're an old friend, so I am willing to show you a good time. I hereby accept your challenge for the hunt, but be warned: By slaying my dragons and mocking my first knight, you have angered me greatly. Do not bother begging for mercy, for there will be _none!_ ” At the last word, he swiftly brought his swordspear down again, calling down numerous pillars of lightning onto Havel and his knights. The latter quickly brought their shields up and blocked the hailstorm of bolts effortlessly, but the bright light had given Faraam and Ornstein a good opportunity to escape. By the time the electric onslaught had subsided, the nameless King and his first knight were gone.

 

“I can't believe it!”, Ornstein raged as he hurried to get into his armor. “I thought he had been locked away in a tower!” In his haste, he had attached his left pauldron to his right shoulder and vice versa, but after another two and a half minutes that seemed like an eternity to him, everything sat where it was supposed to be. Over the years, he had gotten really fast at putting on his armor. Looking out of the window and finding that nobody was to be seen below, he silently slipped down the wall, trying to melt into the shadows. Now he only needed to get to the tower undetected... “There you are”, the bishops voice piped from somewhere behind him, but he did not care to look, instead making a mad dash for the mausoleum. He would not lead them to the tower where Faraam was waiting. The mausoleum was a good place for shaking off pursuers because of it's numerous walkways and floors. Ornstein would be able to jump swiftly from floor to floor and leap across the empty space in between if need be, while Havel's armor was notoriously heavy and would make any jumps of this extent impossible for him, forcing him to use the stairways.

“Get him! Don't let him enter the building!”, Havel's voice boomed across the platform. Of course. He most likely had scouted the area before attacking, knowing where Ornstein was trying to run! But there was nowhere else to go, the way that led to the mausoleum was a bridge that ended in a steep drop on both sides, and behind him was Havel, in hot pursuit. He had to reach the mausoleum, he had no choice. With a curse, Ornstein dodged the huge arrows that were being shot at him, which wasn't all too difficult because as a former Dragonslayer himself, he was well acquainted with them and could easily predict where they would land. What he could not predict, however, was the huge net that was suddenly being shot at him, suspended by six arrows at the edges. Shooting this thing must have had required some serious coordination on part of Havel's knights. He barely managed to avoid it, having almost reached the mausoleum gate, when suddenly another net was being shot at rim _right out of that very gate_!

This was entirely unexpected and he did not manage to dodge this time, being swept up by the net and tumbling across the stony bridge in a whirl of net and arrows. It was a violent fall and his limbs where completely tangled when he finally came sliding to a stop, right in front of Havel.

“My my, Ornstein, aren't you quick. But we have come well prepared for your quickness. Alas, of what use is it to you if you cannot move?”, he snickered, raising his weapon. The lion knight could catch a glimpse of Havel's eyes through the slits of the gray helmet, and their expression – round and opened wide with dilated pupils – was one that shook him to the core. Just when Ornstein thought that Havel would club him to death, there was a rush of air and suddenly he was plucked off the ground, suspended in the claws of- “Praan!”, the lion knight called out, elated to see his friend alive. “Careful, Praan! Watch the arrows!”

“Shoot that dragon, do not let it escape!”, Havel bellowed, apparently livid that his prey had eluded him. And indeed, the arrows came flying without pause, and with a sinking heart Ornstein found that Havel's men were quite numerous, firing at them from various towers and walls all over the temple grounds. There was no way a dragon could survive here. “Ornstein, are you alright? I am so sorry for having failed you when we fought the monster of the abyss”, Praan rumbled.

“No, I mean yes Praan, I'm fine. But you have to leave at once! There is no way you will survive if you stay! Drop me on the highest tower and fly far away!”, the lion knight implored his friend.

“Are you sure? I am certain I could -”

“NO, Praan! This is an order! Drop me and begone!”, Ornstein snarled.

“As you wish, my friend. Please don't die”, Praan answered with a grave sadness as he took a short dive and dropped Ornstein on the tower, spiraling up into the air again and disappearing into the clouds. “By the sun, what happened?”, came Faraam's concerned voice. He had been waiting on the tower and hurried to cut Ornstein loose from the net. “It seems they came prepared to counter our respective fighting styles, Faraam. We will have to be very careful”, Ornstein huffed as he lay on his back and tried to catch his breath. He had just narrowly escaped death at the hands of an old friend and somehow it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

“Well, we should be safe here for a while. This tower is the highest of them all. No stairs are leading up here and the interior is hollow, so they cannot just climb it from the inside as there are no stairs inside of it, either”, Faraam explained while sneaking a glance down the wall. “They would have to climb – oh. This is _astonishing_!”, he exclaimed, “Look at this, Ornstein!” With a sinking feeling in his gut, the lion knight got to his feet and approached his Master, carefully looking down the wall. What he saw made him question the very laws of gravity: Stone greatshields were slowly ascending the wall in a turtle formation, completely hiding the people using them. The archers had shot huge arrows into the side of the tower, and these very arrows were now used as a ladder by Havel and his knights. They were climbing the towers wall while effectively blocking all incoming damage from all sides. “I've never seen anyone do _that_ before. He's good”, Faraam smiled.

“How can you smile at a time like this?” Ornstein gasped in exasperation. “Well, I am a God of war. I can always appreciate a good battle technique”, the God shrugged, “but you are right. We should probably keep moving”. Faraam took a long and precise look at his surroundings. “Hm, there are archers on almost every tower and wall, so using dragons is out of the question. All of the main pathways are blocked by the knights... we don't really have any space to move. I was not aware that Havel's following had grown so _enormous_.”

“Can't you summon the members of your covenant?”, Ornstein asked, “I am sure they would gladly help!” Faraam shook his head.

“No, not only would it take way too long to summon enough of them to make a difference, but most of them wouldn't stand a chance against these ancient warriors anyway. I will not lead the very people to slaughter who trust in me. The covenant exists to _help_ them, not for me to use them as cannon fodder.”

“Then... perhaps... we should retreat and come back later? I- I mean, the surviving dragons have escaped, and there is nothing of value here for the Rock to plunder. We are hopelessly outnumbered”, Ornstein mumbled, shooting him a pleading look. The God raised a brow at him. “In most situations like this, retreat would be appropriate, you are right in that. But this is my sanctuary, and no invaders are to defile it”, he declared. “Furthermore, I have accepted the challenge under exactly these circumstances, I knew what was to come, so I cannot just run away like a coward.”

Ornstein lowered his head, gazing down at the ever approaching shields in despair. Faraam lifted the lions chin to look him in the eye. “But you, Ornstein, may retreat if that is your wish. I will not hold it against you, for our chances of survival are very slim, to be honest. I knew this day would come, there are too many of my fathers subjects left who hold a grudge against me, but I am at peace with it. No warrior lives forever”, he told his knight with a smile, placing his hands on Ornstein's shoulders and squeezing gently. “No... I could never leave you. And if I have to follow you into death itself, so be it”, Ornstein sighed.

Faraam laughed. “Alright! Now that this is settled, be sure to keep up with me! I've got an idea!” Ornstein felt taken aback by the sudden change of mood, but hurried to follow the God as he leaped off the tower and landed on a roof. The archers had only waited for this moment, firing round after round in their direction, but the King and his knight were agile and keen of eye, managing to dodge every single arrow. It was tiring, though, and they often had to stop and catch their breath whenever they reached a place that was out of the archers range. Fighting back like this was impossible. “Where are we going?”, Ornstein wheezed as an arrow almost hit him. “We are heading for my fallen friend, the stormdrake. He was very dear to me and offered me his soul, should he die one day. I will take him up on the offer and hopefully change the pace of this game”, Faraam gasped with a face of pure determination.

After an excruciating sprint, they finally reached the place where the stormdrake had fallen. “I don't believe it! The audacity!”, Faraam roared when he saw that several of Havel's men were busy extracting teeth and bones from the dragon's corpses. Ornstein supposed that they were collecting materials for new armor and weaponry. “I will teach you what happens to those who dare defile my temple, you insolent pawns!”, the God bellowed as he charged at them at full speed. The knights scrambled to to their feet and dropped everything they had been doing, assuming a defensive stance and bracing themselves for the attack. He watched with glee as Faraam effortlessly rushed past the rock-knights and leaped high into the air, landing just in front of his fallen drake.

There, he became very still for a short moment, saying his silent farewell to his friend before lifting his swordspear with a cry and plunging it into the beasts head. There was an explosion of wind and lightning and Ornstein almost lost his footing. Faraam had absorbed his fallen friend's soul as it had been custom in the age of Gods – Ornstein had seen it being done many times, had even done it himself to increase his power as a last resort to turn the tide in battles almost lost. He just hoped the stormdrake's soul would give Faraam the power he needed to destroy an army of ancient warriors that had been alive for ages and rivaled him in battle experience, that most likely had prepared themselves for this fight for decades and were equipped with everything the God was weak against. Of course, Faraam would just have ruffled his hair and told him to have more faith in him, but Ornstein knew from experience that faith alone was sometimes not enough to win a battle.

 

When the wind calmed down however, his doubts were melted away by the raging fire in the God's gaze that turned his stormy irises into suns of their own. He looked even more powerful than before: He had grown a little taller, lightning twisted around his body and Ornstein was hit by a spark of inspiration. Above them, the sound of thunder preceded a quickly coming storm that started to bear down onto the temple grounds, wrapping the buildings in a cloak of dark clouds. The king and the lion knight smiled at each other, sharing the silent understanding that now, Havel was in for a big surprise. With a nod, both of them leaped high into the air, leaving the terrace with the slaughtered dragons behind and suddenly Ornstein felt like all the years had fallen away from him and he was back in the age of dragons with Gwynsen, fighting side by side and understanding each other without words.

They bounded across the buildings, picking off archer after archer at the speed of lightning. The dark clouds made it difficult for the archers to see and within seconds, they had become sitting ducks on the walls and rooftops. Ornstein believed that they had killed the stormdrake in an ambush to prevent this very scenario. The rock-knights did not see them coming as the God's and the lion's lightning imbued attacks stripped them of their stony armor like they had once stripped dragons of their stony scales. Ornstein ran and leaped in Faraam's windshade, finding that it dragged him along with the God and made him even faster. Somewhere down below, Havel's voice had taken on a desperate note, trying to bring order into the chaos that his meticulously planned hunt had become. “Poor Havel”, Faraam yelled as he pulled his swordspear out of a slaughtered rock-knights chest, “you believed that you could hunt a God, but now the hunter has become the hunted it seems!”

“Code N!”, the bishop roared and Ornstein could hear a metallic, grating noise somewhere below the stormclouds. “Let's not find out what _that_ is”, Faraam laughed and kept jumping, spinning in the air as if he weighed nothing. _Did he learn to fly?_ , Ornstein wondered. At first, he had thought the effects of the stormdrake's soul to simply strengthen the range and power of Faraam's lightning attacks as well as give him the power to call down a storm, but now it seemed that the God was almost floating above the ground, pulling his knight with him in the air current. Ornstein himself was able to glide a short distance, mainly to charge at people with his spear, but Faraam was basically dancing across the sky in a fashion that he'd never witnessed before. It was absolutely amazing!

All of a sudden, they did not find any more archers, even though Ornstein was sure they had not killed them all yet. “It looks like they have retreated to the ground”, Faraam grinned, “I can see them cower down there in turtle formations. Do you know what that means, Ornstein?”

“Time for the dragons?”, the knight asked with a lopsided smile.

“Time for the dragons!”, the God cheered, hollering a word in an unknown language that was immediately answered by a roar of many voices. What happened next was a scene of epic proportions: The slender necks of the surviving dragons, among them Praan, came arching down through the clouds as they descended onto the battlefield. Faraam gripped Ornstein by the waist and leaped up to land on the head of a huge archdragon, again calling out in a language Ornstein could not understand – he assumed it was the tongue of the dragons. On this signal, the giant maws opened and unleashed a flaming inferno onto the streets where the knights had taken refuge behind their shields. Although the shields were rather tall and wide, the turtle formation did not offer a seamless protection against the fire that rained down on them from all sides. Ornstein almost felt sorry for them when the screams of burning men echoed in the mountains.

“The wrath of a God”, Faraam winked at him, leaning down to give him a quick kiss. “You are even taller than before”, Ornstein complained with a laugh, “and here I thought your ego was already big enough”. Faraam pretended to be injured by some invisible arrow. “You wound me”, he cried out, but then he wiggled his eyebrows and said: “There is _something else_ that has gotten bigger as well, dear knight. Perhaps I can show you when this is over...” Ornstein covered his face in his hands and groaned. “Oh no, Faraam, please stop talking like this or I'll die of embarrassment! You are really bad at this.” The God just laughed, observing the flames and listening to the cries that got quieter and quieter as Havel's knights kept dying.

“I have to say I really am proud of you, Ornstein. You were amazing today, like an unstoppable force of nature”, Faraam told him, giving him another kiss. _This_ was the very thing Ornstein had yearned for to hear for decades, ages even, and he felt his knees turn to liquid with happiness. “Thank you”, he sighed into the kiss, playfully squeezing Faraam's hips, “you were not bad yourself …...Wait. Will your snake people not die in this fire as well?,” Ornstein asked with sudden worry. “Highly unlikely”, Faraam answered, “the ones that didn't already hide somewhere safe from Havel's knights or have been killed by them will surely have escaped when they heard me call the dragons to attack. They speak the language. But now, let us hunt down the surviving knights before they escape!”

 

They jumped down again, leaping over rooftops and chasing down the streets, stopping to look in every building. The few survivors they found were quickly dealt with. The street's were littered with the charred corpses of the knights that had been pretty much cooked inside of their stone armors and the smell was horrible. After three more hours of searching, they found no more knights. Ornstein was glad that there was no dungeon they would have to search, because Havel's knights would surely have retreated down there to ambush them. The wide open spaces of the temple made the search fairly easy, and after a while they were both sure that every knight had died. “But which of them is Havel?”, Ornstein wondered as they struggled to dispose of the numerous, heavily armored corpses, finally deciding to just roll them off the platform and let them fall into the deep. “Well, I don't think we will ever know”, Faraam sighed, “the ones that could have been Havel are all burned beyond recognition, and they all wear exactly the same armor, ring and weapons. I always wondered why they tried so hard to look alike”.

Ornstein felt uneasy. He had the unsettling thought that Havel could be still alive, hiding in a spot they had somehow forgotten to search, or having moved where they already _had_ searched. “What if he's still alive?”, Ornstein muttered as he pushed another dead knight off of the platform.

“How should he have survived? There was nowhere for him to go, the only survivors we found after the inferno were some archers who had access to buildings on higher ground. Havel was down in the streets, I heard his voice shortly before the fire rained down on him”, Faraam grunted. Ornstein nodded, but he still was scared of being suddenly attacked by Havel while being asleep, sparring with Praan, taking a bath or sleeping with Faraam. All of these possibilities were deeply disturbing. He stopped pushing at a particularly heavy knight and stared into the distance, wiping his palm across his forehead. The image of Havel came back to mind – Havel standing over him as Ornstein lay helplessly on the ground, tangled in the net and unable to move. Havel raising his occult weapon to club him to death like an animal. Havel's eyes... He couldn't place the expression in them, but these eyes were _haunting_ him. “Ornstein? What's the matter?”, Faraam asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. With a start, the knight realized that his cheeks were wet with tears.

“I- I am fine”, he stuttered, “I just got some dust into my eyes.” He forced a smile at Faraam who looked down at him with concern. “Havel used to be my friend, too”, the God sighed, letting his gaze roam over the piles of corpses. “I understand your sadness, Ornstein, for I too am sad. But Havel made his choice. He hated me so much that he did all this, gave everything he had to bring me down”, he muttered, “there was no other way than to kill him, for he would have chased me for all eternity. Please do not feel guilty.” Ornstein bit his lower lip, unwilling to correct his Master that his tears were not tears of sadness, but more of fear and stress. He did not feel remorse for killing _anyone_ who tried to threaten his beloved Master, no matter if they were a former friend. Also, from the moment Havel had looked at him like that, he had not felt any positive emotion for him anymore. And he felt that he was still looking at him. “He's watching us, Faraam”, Ornstein whispered, looking up at the God with wide, worried eyes. “I am sure! We have to keep searching!”

The God took a breath to say something, but seemed to change his mind and let his eyes roam the horizon instead where the sun was slowly sinking. “If you really believe this to be true, Ornstein, then I suppose we have no choice _but_ to keep searching”, he answered with a half smile. “Although I really hope you are wrong.” They ended up searching the whole night. Every time Faraam had suggested to stop, Ornstein had begged him to keep searching, if only for another hour. When the first rays of the sun appeared in the sky, Faraam halted with a long sigh. “Ornstein...”, he began, but the knight looked at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. “Please Faraam, we have almost found him, I'm sure! If you don't want to keep searching, it's fine, but I will! We cannot let him-” he was interrupted as the God simply picked him up, put him over his shoulder and carried him away.

“Let me down, I beg of you!”, he cried but Faraam slapped his butt to silence him.

“Havel is _dead_ and we are going to sleep _now_! It has been a very exhausting day and night and I really need some sleep. And so do you, quite obviously”, the God grumbled with a half suppressed yawn.

Ornstein wasn't sure what to think. He felt like a madman for insisting to keep searching for someone who was surely dead, _had_ to be dead. But his gut had never betrayed him before, and he was _certain_ that Havel was still alive, lurking somewhere to attack them when they did not expect it, with _those eyes_ staring at them the whole time. At the same time, he felt exhausted beyond measure and wanted nothing more than to sleep. _Perhaps the feeling will go away when I am rested_ , he tried to convince himself.

Their quarters fortunately had been spared by the flames. Faraam left a trail of armor and clothes as he proceeded to make a beeline for his bed, falling down on his face with a grunt. Ornstein set his armor aside neatly, folded his clothes to tidy squares and only then laid down next to the God, nudging him to make him raise his arm so he could slip beneath it. He had come to greatly enjoy being hugged while he slept, it made him feel safe and he did not wake at the smallest noise anymore. After all, who would be so crazy and attack someone who was asleep in the arms of the God of war himself? _Havel_ , a tiny voice in his head reminded him, but he shut it out. Apparently it took all of Faraam's remaining strength to lift his arm, but when he had finally made it, he drew Ornstein close against his chest. _He really has gotten taller since consuming that soul_ , the lion knight thought before joining Faraam in the land of dreams.

 

Ornstein woke with a scream, a horrible pain radiating from his legs and making his vision swim. “Good morning to you, too, Ornstein”, Havel drawled with his usual bored voice. Ornstein stared at him with wide eyes and heaving chest, slowly bringing his gaze down to his legs. They had been crushed by the Rock's hammer, the bones shattered into a million pieces. When he tried to move them, the pain caused him to sink to the floor again in shock, a raging nausea in his head.

“Oh my, still tired?”, the Rock laughed, taking off his helmet. Ornstein's gaze feverishly scanned the room. It was not Faraam's, but a shabby small one on the very outskirts of the temple grounds. “How did you-” he started, but speaking made him feel too ill. “It does not matter how I did it, what matters is what I will do next”, the bishop explained in his monotonous drawl, slowly taking off his armor. _Those eyes_ looked down at him, and suddenly Ornstein remembered where he'd seen that look before.

“No...”, he stammered weakly, desperately looking for his spear, for _anything_ that could be used as a weapon. But there was nothing. Save for some dusty rugs, the room was completely empty. His feeble attempts to resist as Havel forcefully undressed him were quickly interrupted when the Rock grabbed both of his wrists. “Do I have to shatter your arms too, oh valiant knight? Or will you bend down and take it like a man?”, he grinned. “Never! Get your dirty paws off me, you imbecile! And you call yourself a bishop! Do you have no shame?”, Ornstein roared but Havel just laughed. “You are one to talk. If the traitor king is good enough for you, so am I”, the Rock grunted as he hooked Ornstein's smashed legs over his shoulders. The pain was mind numbing and Ornstein started to fight tooth and nail against Havel's advances. “A shame, really. I used to admire your skill in battle, but you sealed your fate by siding with the traitor”, the bored voice droned as strong hands snapped the slender bones in Ornstein's wrists.

Suddenly, Havel had a different face, and Ornstein found that he was not at the temple anymore, but back at the training grounds he had stayed at when first becoming a knight. His limbs were not broken anymore and instead of Havel, the man on top of him was his first commander, Knight Vendrick, a man he had once trusted. “Come on, cease your whining and act like a man! I will make it quick”, the Commander grunted as he tried to force Ornstein's legs apart. “S-stop it! I will report you if you don't stop at once!”, Ornstein heard himself yell with a thin voice, but his Commander had only laughed. “Sure, report me. Things like this happen all the time, you know, it is normal. The only thing a report will get you is a dishonorable discharge for trying to disgrace your superiors...and for being a weakling who let this happen to himself in the first place.” Then, the commander had forced himself onto the knight, ignoring his grunts of pain and his pleading to stop.

 

Ornstein opened his eyes and stared at the wall. He could feel Faraam's chest falling and rising peacefully behind him, his arm still wrapped securely around the knights waist. Havel had never come for him, it had all been just a nightmare – a nightmare he had not had in ages. The redhead looked down on Faraam's broad arm with a sniffle, carefully bringing his own hands to his face to wipe the tears from his eyes. He did not want to wake him. Now Ornstein too believed that Havel really was dead, and that having him stand over his own restrained form had triggered some unhappy memories from his youth. He had reminded him of his old Commander, and that was all there was to it: Just an old memory he had tried to forget – with some success, apparently.

“What's wrong, my love?”, Faraam mumbled, pulling him closer. “I am sorry, Faraam. It was not my intention to wake you”, he sighed, “I just had a bad dream, nothing important.”

Why did Faraam always seem to notice when something was wrong? Even in his sleep?

“You are crying. Tell me”, the God pleaded, turning him around to look at his face. “I- I'm sorry Faraam, but I do not wish to talk about it”, he muttered, turning his back again. “Is this still about Havel?”, the God asked with serious concern in his voice. _Damn him and his intuition!_ “Please, Ornstein, if there is anything bothering you, please tell me! How can I help you if I don't know whats going on?”

“Only a time traveler could help me with this”, Ornstein huffed, “there is nothing you can do, Faraam. It was just a nightmare, please don't worry about it”.

“What _happened_ , Ornstein? Please tell me, or I won't ever be able to sleep again!” The lion knight turned around and shot the God an annoyed glance. Faraam looked at him expectantly. He had absolutely no idea when to stop, did he? With an aggravated sigh, Ornstein ruffled his fluffy silver mane. “You are such a child, Faraam. Every _mature_ person would know to stop bothering a man when he does not wish to talk about a nightmare of his”, he grumbled.

“...you are right, my apologies. I'm just worried. I love you and it pains me greatly so see you hurt”, Faraam assured him, giving him a puppy-eyed look. _A curse upon him and his way to barge into my heart when I don't want to talk about things_ , the lion knight thought with chagrin.

“Well, if you _must_ know-” _why am I doing this?_ “- there was an... incident with an old commander of mine. The first commander I ever had. I admired and trusted him, but then he... did something”, Ornstein muttered. Faraam watched him with such a look of compassion in his eyes, it almost broke Ornstein's heart. “You see- Faraam, as a God of war, what do you know about abuse of power among soldiers? Literal abuse?”, he asked. Faraam pondered a bit before suddenly looking rather alarmed. “No”, he whispered, “did he-”

“Yes, he did. And I was too young and foolish to defend myself”, Ornstein grumbled bitterly, scolding himself for having finally told someone though he had sworn to take it with him to the grave. Faraam hugged him then, so tight that it seemed like he never wanted to let go. It was as if he had known that his knight would start to cry, and to his own surprise, he did, he couldn't stop himself. It was as if years of sadness and shame came crashing down on him and he had to let it all out. It hurt, but when his sobs had finally died down to small sniffles, his heart felt much lighter, as if a deeply lodged dagger had been removed. “I am so sorry this happened to you, my love”, the God sighed with genuine sadness in his voice, “now I understand why you reacted so strongly to the... _mistake_ I made back when the dragons had injured you. I hope I did nothing else to remind you of this terrible incident.”

“...you do not mock me for it?”, Ornstein inquired with genuine surprise, wiping a stray tear form his eye. “No, heavens, why would I do that?” the God asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Well”, Ornstein began, “you never had much respect for the weak, so I thought-”

“Rape,” Faraam interrupted him, “is a dishonorable deed. One that sadly has always been a part of war, like a lingering sickness. There is the bright side of war with it's glorious battles, inspired victories, feasts to celebrate said victories, miracles and heroes and champions and tales thereof. But there is also the dark side of war, the mindless slaughter of innocents, genocide, mass mutilation and rape, to name a few. Not everyone aspires to be an honorable warrior that fights with righteousness in his heart, and I understand that. But the deeds I just mentioned are all acts of cowardice”, he growled. “You are not weak for letting it happen, Ornstein. Your _commander_ was weak, for he could not restrain himself and was _too weak_ to control his urges. What makes it even more unforgivable is that he did it to one of his own knights, one he had sworn to protect and train!”

“I still feel weak for letting it happen”, Ornstein mumbled, lowering his gaze. Faraam cowered down to look him in the eye. “Ornstein, it can happen to anyone. It could even happen to me”. At that, the knight laughed bitterly. “Don't be ridiculous Faraam. How could something like this ever happen to _you_?” Faraam sighed. “Well, just to give an example: If Havel had managed to catch _me_ in a net instead of you and there would have been no Dragon and no Ornstein so save me, he could have done it. I highly doubt that Havel had any intentions like that towards either of us, but it would have been possible and there would have been nothing I could have done to prevent it.” Ornstein thought about this, and he had to admit that Faraam was right. “Tell me, my love,” Faraam growled, “is this commander of yours still alive?”

“No”, Ornstein answered, finally smiling a little, “I killed him.” Faraam returned his smile then, his eyes sparkling as he said: “Well done. Such a dishonorable coward deserves not to live. Thank you for trusting me and talking about it, I hope you will feel better now.” Ornstein pulled the God back down into bed, cuddling up against him as he closed his eyes. “I already do. At first I was mad at you for not leaving me be, but I think I'm glad to have told you.”

“Oh, and Ornstein? I know I can be rather... _rough_ in bed. If I ever do anything that bothers you, you must tell me immediately. You know this, right?”, Faraam asked with concern. “No, Faraam, I know you would never hurt me like that. With you, it's different”, he assured him, “but now, let's go back to sleep, alright?” He kissed the God's forehead and they went to sleep again, holding each other in a comfortable embrace.

 


	7. A bad time story

It took several days to rid the temple grounds of all evidence that Havel and his men had ever been there. At last, all of the corpses had been sent tumbling down the mountainside, the arrows and weapons had been collected and buried as Faraam did not want to provide future Dragonslayers with additional ammunition by just throwing it all off of the platform as well. The dead dragons were laid to rest in the mountains – the largest of them had to be carried there by all of the surviving dragons together, for he was as big as a mountain himself. He was too big to be buried and so was positioned in a way that let him overlook the temple, as if he was only sleeping. “This one was truly ancient”, Faraam sighed with a woeful expression. His sadness about the loss of so many of his dragons was obvious on his face as he buried his friends in the snow.

“I am very sorry, Faraam, especially for the loss of your stormdrake. I knew he was particularly dear to you”, Ornstein said as he placed a reassuring hand on Faraam's back. 

“It is how it is”, the God muttered, “there is no use in dwelling on things that cannot be changed anymore. I will treasure the good memories we had....after all, every warrior dies someday.” Every time the God said this very sentence, it made Ornstein feel uneasy. It implied that even Faraam would die someday, and this was a scenario that Ornstein didn't even want to think about. The man could not die, _would_ never die, because his first knight would protect him until the world ended. He would find a way. At least, this was what he tried to convince himself of when they were finally finished with the sad task and flew back to the temple.

 

“Praan, I am so glad you survived. I was so worried about you”, the knight told the dragon below him. “It was thanks to you, “the dragon answered, “for you ordered me to retreat for my own good, despite being in a pinch yourself. You truly have become a friend of dragons.” He was looking at Faraam who was flying in front of them, sitting on one of the larger wyverns.

“Praan, I have seen several of your kind and many wyverns, but no other stormdrakes. Are there not more of them around? I am under the impression that my master prefers them to other dragons for they compliment his fighting style, so why does he not tame another one?”

“I know not whether this stormdrake was the last of his kind”, Praan rumbled, “but I can tell you for sure that he was the only stormdrake I have ever seen around these parts of the world and the only one I've seen in this age. He had been around for a very long time and had formed a close bond with the King. I imagine this bond is not so easily replaced, even if the King happened to find another one”. Ornstein observed the shimmering scales on Praan's back that faintly reflected the light in various colors, almost like gemstones.

“Of course. I was just thinking that the two of us bonded rather quickly and while Lord Faraam can be obnoxious at times and possesses a truly awful sense of humor, I am certain he could form a bond with pretty much anything”, the knight said, “he is a God after all”.

Praan turned his head and looked at him with interest. “I have always wanted to ask you this, Ornstein: Aren't you a God yourself? You are too tall and powerful to be human and far too short to be a giant, in fact you appear somewhat similar to our King in terms of shape and size”. “No”, Ornstein laughed, “I would by no means consider myself a God. The Gods are _royalty_ , you see, and while I certainly am a knight of very high status that serves the Gods – or at least that's what I _used_ to be – I am no deity myself.” Praan thought about this for a while before finally asking: “If I may ask, what makes you so different from the King? I am aware that he inherited the sunlight from his father, along with a powerful Lord Soul, but is there any difference _besides_ him being simply more powerful than you?”

Ornstein rolled his eyes. “Of course there is, what kind of question is this? While he is _officially_ not considered a God anymore since his status as a deity had been rescinded ages ago, they were unable to strip him of his power. So in fact he still is a God, as he still holds all of his power and there are many who worship him despite not knowing his identity. But... I know that the members of his covenant keep wondering who he is and even had several violent disputes over it, so there is _definitely_ an interest in his person”, Ornstein said.

The dragon laughed, “But let's say you somehow gained more power through absorbing a powerful soul, could you _become_ a God? If people started to worship you, would you not be considered a deity as well?” Ornstein felt his mood sink. Talks like these usually led to doubt in the royal family's legitimacy as Lords and deities, and this was considered blasphemy and had always been punished severely in Lordran.

 

“Praan....while it is true that the Gods possess powerful souls, power is by far not the only thing it takes to be a God. In the past I used to be even more powerful than I am now, I could have easily bested many of the gods in a fight one on one.” Ornstein smiled as memories of happier days replayed in his head. “You see, when I was picked by Lord Gw- _Faraam_ to be his first knight, he bestowed upon me a shard of his Lord Soul. This is the greatest honor one could ever be granted. Later, when I became the leader of Lord Gwyn's four knights, Lord Gwyn _also_ granted me a shard of his Lord Soul. But while I still carry Faraam's shard with me and will never let go of it for I treasure it greatly, I left the shard Lord Gwyn had given me behind in Anor Londo. Gods are.... well, _divine_ , they grant their devotees miracles and guidance, they are simply greater beings than the rest of us.”

“But if you claim to be no god, what are you, Ornstein?”, the dragon inquired, obviously perplexed.

“I am a _knight_ , Praan. The Gods are the _Lords_ , and the knights, assassins, smiths and everyone else are their humble _servants_. Obviously knights like me would be the highest ranking and most powerful servants, but it does not matter how powerful a servant is, he will _remain_ a servant unless his Lord wishes for it to be otherwise. Does this answer your question?”

Praan hummed. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to change his mind, instead asking: “But why would you leave behind something so valuable as a shard of Gwyn's soul?”

“You really do have a lot of questions, Praan,” he sighed while shaking his head, “I am afraid I cannot tell you. It has to remain a secret.” Praan nodded, apparently understanding that Ornstein did not want to talk about the subject anymore and it finally looked like the conversation had ended. They had reached the temple anyway, and as Praan landed and immediately excused himself to get some sleep, Ornstein was secretly glad because he did not _like_ it if the Gods legitimacy was being questioned in this manner. If everyone could become a God simply by gaining power or defeating a God and stealing their soul, then the Gods – and therefore Faraam – would not have been special anymore.

So the knight sat down on the edge of the temple's platform, letting his legs dangle and getting absorbed by his memories.

Somewhere in his mind, Ornstein knew that Lord Gwyn had greatly exaggerated his own family's holiness far beyond what was real, but to him, Faraam and the other Gods were larger than life, holy beings that radiated a greatness he himself could never even hope to achieve. And he wanted it to _stay_ this way, to have someone stronger than himself to rely on, look up to and have faith in. Someone who was powerful enough to brave the encroaching darkness in this dying world.

He remembered how disillusioned he had been when the Gods had fled Anor Londo, heartbroken even to see that everything and everyone he had so desperately devoted himself to was not as great as he had hoped after all. These _Gods_ had almost looked like ordinary people as they had hastily packed their riches and sailed away to unknown lands, fleeing and leaving their empire – and Ornstein – to die and rot.

Only Gwyndolin had stayed with him, frail, stubborn Gwyndolin who had been adamant that there was still hope, had focused all of his energy on some mad plan that had involved the Lord Vessel and the rekindling of the dying flame. Ornstein had left his precious Soul shard in the young God's possession, to help protect the cathedral in his stead when he finally had taken his leave. He still felt guilty for leaving him alone in the dead city with only the brutish executioner Smough for company, but Gwyndolin was highly intelligent and exceptionally skilled at powerful magic and creating Illusions. He surely could handle everything the world threw at him with ease.

 

“Lost in thought, are we?”, Faraam's voice pulled him back into reality as the god heavily sat down next to him. “I was just thinking about the past”, Ornstein sighed, letting his gaze roam over the clouds below. “About Lord Gwyndolin, to be precise. Do you think he is doing alright?”

“Gwyndolin? What makes you think about my little sister all of a sudden?”, Faraam tilted his head at the knight.

“I just had a conversation with Praan and I wondered what became of Anor Londo in my long absence. This might be a cruel question to ask an exile like you, but...tell me, do you ever wish you could go home, Faraam?”, he mumbled.

Faraam only laughed and waved him off. “Home? I already _am_ home, Ornstein! I never missed that posh old city, actually I was quite relieved to finally leave it behind. It was only holding me back.”

Ornstein suddenly felt stricken with grief and proceeded to climb into Faraam's lap, hugging him tightly. He was so, so glad to have him back, the time without him had been unbearable and he remembered it vividly: The trial, a mob of angry Gods demanding justice done to the traitor, Gwyn's unwillingness to execute his own son. In the end, Gwyn had overruled the lot of them and condemned Faraam to a life in exile – enraging the other Gods even further by letting him leave with his limbs intact, although they had unanimously voted for the firstborn to be blinded if he were to live. Faraam bidding him goodbye and placing his trust in his first knight to protect his sister Gwynivere from the duke Seath who had begun to stalk her. He felt overwhelmed by the memories and held on to the God's barrel chest as if his life depended on it.

Faraam watched him with an air of surprise, his expression shifting from his usual careless smile to a certain wistfulness.

“To tell you the truth, I missed my father sometimes, and my sisters. But most of all, I missed you”, he said as he returned his knight's embrace, resting his cheek on the other man's head. “But who could have been a better protector to sister Gwynivere than you, the very best of my Dragonslayers? I _knew_ that Seath was planning to experiment on her, but my Lord Father did not believe me. You were my most trusted knight and I knew you would not betray her, no matter what Seath would offer you. Please forgive me for leaving you behind.” He placed a kiss on Ornstein's head.

“I understand”, Ornstein mumbled into the God's chest. “I just... It hurt really badly when she left the land with Lord Flann and did not even _offer_ to take me with her. She just left me behind like some unwanted dog, not even bidding me farewell even though I had protected her for _decades_ ”, he grumbled, “you cannot _imagine_ how many of Seath's henchmen I had to fight who had secretly tried to get to her whenever Lord Gwyn was away.”

Faraam wrinkled his nose. “That disgusting paledrake... I will never understand why my father trusted him so.”

“But”, Ornstein smiled, “you would not _believe_ who volunteered to help me against these bastards. None other than executioner Smough. Who would have thought he would prove such a valuable ally?”

“What? Are you talking about the _cannibal_?”, Faraam exclaimed, clearly startled.

“Exactly”, the knight grinned. ”And not only did he help me to kill them, he also got rid of the bodies quite effectively. As disgusting as that sounds. I am sure Seath would have found a way to frame me for some made up crime, had I been caught with the corpses of his subordinates. There were already many among the Gods who distrusted me for having been a traitors disciple.”

“But why would the executioner agree to help you? I thought you were the reason he was not permitted to be one of the knights?”, Faraam wondered.

Ornstein shrugged, lazily twisting Faraam's hair around his fingers.

“Perhaps he believed to change my mind by helping me, or he just thought it to be a good opportunity to gain access to more people to feast on. Either way, I am ashamed to admit that without his help, I would have walked into one of Seath's traps at least once. After all, everyone knew I was guarding Gwynivere, but nobody knew that Smough did, too.”

 

Ornstein felt heat rise to his cheeks when Faraam leaned down and kissed him, holding him with a gentleness no one would have expected a God of war to be capable of.

“Alas, I feel like an arse for treating you like I did”, Faraam sighed, “you truly are the epitome of faithfulness and I am a fool for ever believing it to be otherwise.”

He gazed into the knight's eyes, a stormy sky meeting a green meadow.

“I am so sorry, Ornstein. I must be such a disappointment to you. How can I ever make it up to you?” He shook his head.

“What – Faraam, what are you even talking about?”, Ornstein sputtered, blushing feverishly. “You never did me any wrong and I am happy to serve you, there is nothing else I – ”, he stammered, but Faraam shushed him with another kiss.

 

“Shh. You don't understand, let me explain. I... always viewed you as my most prized _possession_. Even though I have always been very proud of you and loved you dearly, I never saw you as an equal, you were a servant to me, a pet almost. I boasted about you in front of the other Gods like one would boast about a particularly fast horse, or an especially vicious fighting dog”, he sighed, gazing at the horizon with a look of melancholy on his face. “Even though I tried to tell myself that you are a _person_ and not a thing and I _thankfully_ managed to hold myself back when I wanted nothing more than to fuck you senseless, I still treated you like all the other Gods treated their servants – like property. And now... I just feel so ashamed for having felt that way about you”.

Ornstein only looked up at him with wide eyes, he could not comprehend what Faraam had just told him. Faraam was ashamed? For treating him like a servant?

“But...Faraam? Why would you feel ashamed? I've never been your equal, you are a God and I am your knight. Everything you ever did to me was well within your right.”

“You are a God too, Ornstein”, Faraam grumbled as he buried his face in the knight's red mane, “I know well the stories my Lord Father used to tell everyone and I know that you believe all of them without question. Even _I_ used to believe them, but they are lies! The dragons have told me what really happened. Do you know what we used to be before the Lord Souls were found in the flame? We used to be the same creatures, even the _humans_ used to be the same creatures as us! The only difference is that their ancestor found a different kind of soul.... and the only difference between you and me, Ornstein, is that I hold a much larger part of the Soul my Lord Father found in the flame!”, he whispered, his lip trembling as he spoke. “If I were to gift it all to you, you would be the God and I would be your knight”.

 

Ornstein's face was pale and his eyes were misty. The familiar ache of his world collapsing on him was back and he hated Faraam for telling him all of this. He wanted to accuse him of lying to him, of having been fooled by the dragons, but in his heart, he knew the God was telling the truth. He had always known. “Why?”, was all he could whisper before he had to concentrate all of his might to keep himself from starting to cry.

Faraam's embrace steadied him as he quietly suffered through the storm of his emotions, the God was gently humming a tune against his head while letting his gaze roam over the cloudy horizon, absorbed in thought. “Why do you feel saddened by this, Ornstein? Is it not a relief for you to hear that we are equals? That you are just like me?”, he asked.

“No”, the knight sobbed, hugging Faraam's chest so tightly the God found it difficult to breathe.

“Now now, calm down would you.” He gently pried Ornstein's arms away and took his hands into his own. “Look at me. What makes you so afraid? Please tell me”, he cooed.

“...how can I have faith in you now, Faraam, when you are nothing more than what I am?”, he said with bitterness in his voice, tears flooding the green meadow inside of his eyes.

But Faraam only smiled. “You misunderstood, my dear knight. This does not make me a lesser man, it makes you a greater one.”

“But you said so yourself, without your Lord Soul you are a nothing! How could I ever believe in someone who only was powerful because of some _Soul_ that was given to him? Every _peasant_ could do what you can do if he had your Soul, none of that power is actually yours!”, Ornstein snarled.

Faraam's smile vanished like the sun behind the clouds. For a moment, Ornstein feared that he would beat the living daylights out of him now, but instead he turned his head to look at the horizon again with a sad smile.

“I should have known. You do not love me at all”, he concluded with a voice that was surprisingly calm, as if he had been talking about the weather.

Ornstein blinked. “What does this have to do with love?”, he growled, his bared teeth dangerously close to Faraam's throat.

The God bodily pushed the knight off of his lap, taking him by surprise and sending him rolling on the ground. “You only ever loved my power. Not me as a person. I should have known”, he muttered. “Well, to tell you the truth, I feared for this scenario to happen. It was the very reason I did not tell you earlier. But now that it is done, you are free to leave. I highly doubt that you would want to stay and serve some _peasant_ ”, he scoffed, finally getting to his feet and strolling away without looking back.

 

With a contorting spine and a face that would have put any monster's to shame, Ornstein emitted a howl of rage that made even the dragons shiver. How dare he! He had lied to him all of his life and now he made it look like it was his own fault? The knight slowly stood up from the ground, his mind clouded by a rage he had not felt in ages. But he could not bring himself to attack Faraam. There was only one solution to escape this hell. He took a running start and jumped off of the platform without thinking twice. He would die and this madness would finally come to an end!

But as he kept falling, the anger dissipated along with the clouds that rushed past him and he began to regret the jump. He realized that he _did_ love Faraam, after all he had always preferred him, even when Lord Gwyn had been much more powerful. He had idealized him like some unreachable idol, but he found that even if Faraam would have been degraded to some powerless peasant for some reason, even if the other Gods would have blinded him and completely stripped him of his power, he still would have loved him. He always would, no matter what would happen to the both of them. But now Faraam would never know. He would keep living on this mountain, believing for all eternity that Ornstein had never loved him.

With desperation, the knight tried to steady his fall and get a hold of the rocks, but he had jumped a good distance away from the mountain and was plummeting through empty space, unable to see anything because of the clouds. He was falling too fast to hold on to anything, anyway.

 

“Praan!”, he screamed at the top of his lungs, almost losing consciousness from the sheer speed of the fall.

“I wondered how long it would take you to call for me”, a voice boomed as he was swept up by the claws of the diving dragon as Praan cradled him against his chest, swiftly reversing the fall to a steep ascent. “You are lucky I heard that awful noise you made before you jumped. Are you out of your mind?”, the dragon scolded.

“I'm so sorry, Praan, but I cannot take it anymore! Everything I ever believed in is gone”, Ornstein cried as he hung loosely in the dragons grip like a ragdoll.

“Nonsense! Since when are you so weak of mind? I am shocked to see you like this!”

With a grace that was unique to the flight of a dragon, Praan landed on the platform and gently set the knight down onto the dusty stones. “What happened, Ornstein? Why did you jump?”, he asked, obviously torn between anger and worry.

Ornstein sighed, cowering on the ground because his limbs still felt weak from the fall.

“...Faraam just told me that he is no God at all. None of them are, I – I even _knew_ it, Praan! But I lied to myself all the time because I _wanted_ to believe!”, he raged. “The world is dying! There is nobody left to save it and now there are not even Gods anymore! No one we can turn to! We are done for, that is why I jumped!”

“Not a very knightly deed of you. Did it ever occur to you that the King might feel the same way?”, Praan quipped, inspecting his claws.

Ornstein stilled. “...what do you mean?”, he asked with suspicion, slowly finding the strength to sit upright.

“I mean”, the dragon explained with a tone of annoyance, “that everyone is always relying on him to save the day, but nobody ever gets the idea that he might find it a rather daunting task to carry the weight of this world on his shoulders alone.“

“Very unlikely”, the knight muttered bitterly, “A man who constantly boasts about his prowess as a God of war should measure up to the challenge.”

“Whatever the case, it is no business of mine. I will take my leave now, but promise me to not jump again”, Praan implored him.

“I promise”, the knight grumbled quietly, “and... thank you. For saving me.”

The dragon nodded, silently regarding him before finally flying off to the mountains.

 

Now Ornstein was standing on the platform all by himself, contemplating on what to do next. He still was rather angry, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to reconcile with Faraam, to tell him that he still loved him even if he was not the almighty deity he had taken him for. _He must feel awful_ , he thought as he grudgingly scuffled ahead to look for the man. Ornstein finally found him sitting on the highest tower, seemingly lost in meditation. This was unfortunate, for Faraam had explicitly asked him not to be disturbed whenever he chose to meditate. The knight decided not to enrage him further and instead sat down several meters away from him to wait for him to finish. He could see the sun and the moon suspended in the sky, equal in size and elevation, looking down on him like two dissimilar eyes.

“What are you still doing here? Have I not told you to leave?”, a mirthless voice shook him out of his daydreams. Faraam was looking at him with disdain.

“You told me that I am free to leave, but I do not wish to. Instead, we will resolve this issue right now!”, Ornstein demanded with a growl.

“What more is there to talk about? Why would you possibly wish to stay after all of this?”, the God drawled. “I believe we are quite finished here.”

“Oh no, we are not”, the knight huffed, finally getting up and walking towards the God.

Faraam's face took on a look of caution, standing up himself and assuming a defensive position.

Ornstein laughed joylessly. “You expect me to attack you, don't you. You are such a fool Faraam, I just want to talk!”

The God regarded him with a bleak stare. “Then go ahead, Ornstein, for I have nothing left to say.”

With a deep sigh, Ornstein looked at the dusty ground between them, trying to calm himself. He was here to reconcile, not to accuse. This was most likely the only chance he would get to win Faraam back. “I am incredibly sorry, Faraam”, he finally muttered, “it seems I was so caught up in my delusion that I preferred a lie to the truth. I criticized your supposed lack of power only out of my own cowardice, because... I was scared! I was scared that if we were equals, you would not be powerful enough to defy the encroaching darkness, because I have found myself to be too weak to amount to anything! It was selfish.” He shot Faraam a pleading look. “I _do_ love you, more than anything in this world and I am so sorry for having hurt you this badly. Please, is there anything I can do to earn your forgiveness?”

The God regarded him with arms crossed over his chest, a brow raised in suspicion. “As much as I want to forgive you, how can I be sure you're telling the truth? I am the only ally you have left, so you would try to stay on my good side regardless of your true feelings. How can I be sure you're not only using me for protection?”

Ornstein glared at him. “You want me to prove it to you? Faraam, I made a mistake! I know that I wronged you and I am sorry! You treated me like a pet and I treated you like – well, like a deity. I've always denied you your flaws, even though you have every right to have them like anybody else does, and it is fine that way. I love you with all of your weaknesses and fears. I just want you back”, he sniveled, fighting back his tears.

 

Faraam looked at him, his mouth a hard line, but his sparkling eyes betrayed his sadness.

Ornstein sank to his knees. “Please, Faraam. I would do anything for you! I would even turn into a dragon if you wished it so!”

Faraam only shook his head and finally uncrossed his arms, striding over to the kneeling knight and joining him on the floor, engulfing him in a warm embrace. “I don't need you as a dragon... I need you just the way you are”, he sighed, “and even if you are lying to me, I do not care.” He leaned down and buried his face in Ornstein's shoulder. “I do not care.”

“I'm not lying”, Ornstein sniveled as he hugged Faraam with all of his might, “I will find a way to prove it to you.”

Faraam's smile had returned to his face, albeit still looking a bit melancholic.

“And I will find a way to earn your faith again. My power's origin might lie beyond myself, but whoever seeks to claim it for themselves would have to wrest it from me first. I will protect you from the end of the world and I will be your sun when darkness falls”, he whispered in his knight's ear, effortlessly picking the shorter man up and carrying him away.

And Ornstein finally felt himself relax, closing his eyes and resting his head on Faraam's shoulder as the evening breeze scattered his sorrow into the wide landscape and the sky.

 


	8. Change of pace

 

The following days brought long hours of desperately needed tranquility to the temple. The dragons were still mourning their dead and therefore kept to themselves more than usual, but the weather had turned surprisingly mild, bringing a warm wind up to the mountain that made everyone relax a little. Ornstein and Faraam were seated side by side on their respective blankets in the mausoleum, their minds floating in deep meditation. After their recent fight about Faraam's godhood and the two of them just about managing to reconcile, Faraam had declared that they had to meditate more often to bring balance to their easily agitated minds. The lion knight had been less than thrilled by the idea of sitting still for hours at a time, but after the other man had taught him breathing exercises, corrected his posture and gave some helpful advice, Ornstein found that he actually enjoyed it.

While he had meditated with Faraam before, he had only ever willed himself to sit still whilst impatiently waiting for the God to rise again. It had done nothing for him because he had not actually tried to meditate, just sitting in silence because he had been asked to do so. Actually trying to focus on it was a new experience for him. He had always preferred activities that satisfied his immense need for movement, but now he realized that the peaceful serenity of meditation helped greatly in calming his ever racing mind. A soft breeze was blowing through the numerous windows and cracks in the walls, gently swaying Faraam's hair and his own red ponytail in time with the incense burners dangling above their heads, the soft creaking of the chains mingling with the noise of the wind.

For a long time, the lion knight had felt slightly unsettled by the petrified and obviously dead acolytes that huddled in every corner of the mausoleum in a mock display of meditation, but now he was fully aware of his surroundings while concentrating on nothing specific, feeling oddly at peace. The thought of becoming a stone mummy locked in eternal meditation didn't seem so terrifying anymore. After all, what would be so bad about feeling this peace all the time? _Faraam_ , a voice in his head chirped, _he would sit right beside you, but you could never touch him again, not even look at him. You would be separated for all eternity, confined in your own petrified flesh_. Ornstein ground his teeth, the thought had instantly shattered his elevated state of mind and his brain began to heat up, several thoughts competing for his attention. Now his head was once more filled with terrible _what if's_ and _maybe's_ and he was very sure that he would not be able to calm down again in this session, his greatest desire at the moment consisted of getting away from these blasted acolytes and finally getting some exercise. He could have cried out in joy when he heard Faraam changing his breathing pattern, signaling the impending end of his meditation.

 

He hurriedly followed his example, almost jumping to his feet as soon as the other man had opened his eyes. “Tell me one thing, Faraam. Is there even a single person who actually managed to complete the path of the dragon?”, he asked with slight irritation in his voice. Faraam blinked at him in obvious confusion. “What? Where is this suddenly coming from?”, the God asked back as he stretched his limbs with a wince, slowly getting to his feet. “Ha, if I didn't know better, I would say I'm starting to petrify myself. My muscles feel rather stiff”, he laughed. Ornstein ignored the rising dread in his chest and continued: “I have wanted to ask you this for a long time, but there have always been interruptions. Faraam, during my travels I have learned that men and women from all over the world are attempting to turn into dragons. They are searching far and wide for this place, I have talked to many of them during my own long search. But so much time has passed since my arrival here, and not once have I seen somebody completing the path and actually reaching their goal of becoming a dragon. Is it even possible?”

“Why are you so upset about this? Were you trying to turn into a dragon today?”, Faraam winked, amused at Ornstein's excitement. “No, actually I was somewhat concerned that I could turn into one without wanting to”, the knight huffed while casting a wary glance onto the petrified corpses. “Don't be afraid. This”, the God pointed to the stone acolytes, “takes a long time and certainly does not happen unintentionally. I just brought you here so we could do some harmless meditation to calm our hot heads. But you seem to be even more upset than before”, he sighed and shook his head. “How can one not be upset while surrounded by other peoples broken dreams?”, the knight grumbled, still gazing at the acolytes, “Honestly, I have no idea how you can be at peace in this scenery of utter hopelessness. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people who sacrificed everything to come here, just to end up in this room as stone mummies. How does that not affect your mood?”

Faraam stopped fidgeting with his hair and looked at him. “Am I going insane or are you actually expressing a semblance of compassion towards _humans_? What a surprise, Ornstein! I always thought you did not care for them and their troubles.”

“I guess a lot has changed recently”, the knight huffed and slowly walked about the room, regarding the acolytes, who were in various states of deterioration, with a look of distress on his face. “Please. Won't you tell me what this is all about? It's true that I did not care when I arrived here, I was never interested in the path of the dragon and only came here to find you. But now it's bothering me somehow. Perhaps this is the price of casting aside ones comfortable illusions and seeing things for what they really are – you start to worry about matters that concern you none”, Ornstein wondered aloud while staring into a stone acolytes crumbling face.

Suddenly he felt two big hands on his shoulders as the God pulled him against his chest and hugged him from behind. “Slow down, will you”, he chuckled, “there is no need to be upset. Come with me, I will explain it to you.” Faraam led him out of the mausoleum and took him for a walk around the temple grounds. Ornstein was secretly glad that the God knew him well enough to be aware of the fact that he had to move now, even if it was just a walk. “The path of the dragon is a rather complex matter, one that is hard to understand in it's entirety”, Faraam began. “While it is true that all of the aspiring acolytes strive to become immortal, everlasting dragons, only a minuscule number of them can actually succeed. Do you know why?” Ornstein shook his head and looked up at Faraam with wide eyes. Faraam smiled and explained: “It takes a dragon to be a dragon. It is not enough to just resemble one, you have to _be_ it with everything you are. Which is, of course, no easy task for a mortal. Humans are tiny and frail, they are everything a dragon is not. While we are light, the dragons are a neutral gray, but humans are very dark on the inside. It is called _the dark soul_ for a reason”, he said. “So it has to do with their souls?”, Ornstein asked while he kicked some rubble off of the platform, watching it tumble into the deep. “Yes, but that is not all there is to it”, Faraam explained, “they are also a smaller existence. Smaller and darker than the grand being they strive to become. It can be compared to fire: Where the dragon is a raging firestorm, the human is but a tiny spark. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?”

“...I believe I do”, Ornstein answered tentatively, “but a spark can grow into a fire rapidly. So they are not all that different, are they?” Faraam laughed. “That is true! But a fire needs something to feed on to grow, if there is nothing to burn it will die rather quickly, so they need something they can burn, they need to fight, to challenge others and grow with the challenge. The undead warriors who follow the path typically achieve this by amassing souls and defeating competitors until they are very powerful. But this is only half the way. The acolyte has resolved the issue of being too small, but he is still too dark on the inside. The darkness has to become a neutral shade of gray. And how would a human achieve this, my dear knight?”, he asked with a smile, obviously eager to find out if his knight could figure out the answer by himself.

Ornstein let his gaze roam over the sunbleached stones of the bridge they were currently crossing. “Dark becomes gray when there is more light. So they have to lighten their souls, right? … They have to ENlighten their souls! Is this why they meditate?”, he asked. “You are so smart!”, Faraam laughed with glee as he picked the knight up and spun him in a circle. Ornstein let it happen with chagrin. Since Faraam had absorbed the soul of his Stormdrake and grown even taller, he seemed to be even more fond of picking Ornstein up than before. It was embarrassing, but at least there was nobody here to witness the God's foolish behavior, and the dragons paid no attention to such trivial things. “This is why I like you. You can actually think for yourself”, Faraam beamed at him, making Ornstein feel a little weird. It hadn't been a difficult question after all.

“Anyway. You are right, they have to meditate and seek enlightenment to illuminate the darkness inside. The light burns away the dense, black fog of humanity, the acolyte becomes less and less human. Even the dark soul begins to slowly dissolve into a gray mist, but it is too powerful to be burned away. Instead, it is forever changed: Like ink that is diluted with water and slowly becomes translucent, but never completely vanishes. When this state is achieved, the light and dark cancel each other out and the acolyte becomes truly neutral like the dragons, who inherently are without a soul. But now a new problem arises: When the acolyte relinquishes their humanity and dilutes their soul, they also slowly lose their desires, their zest for life, so to speak. It can happen that during their long mediation, they even lose the desire to become a dragon and instead become more and more content with their motionless, lifeless state as a part of the environment - the very traits the Dragons originally possessed before the first flame gave them life. And this is the reason the petrified acolytes do not bother me at all: They are truly at peace, free of all desire and so content with just sitting there that they became a part of the environment themselves. So, there are several scenarios in which the acolyte fails: They fail to amass enough power, are killed by foes or competitors, do not meet the physical or mental requirements necessary to reach enlightenment, lose track of their goal, find their peace and revert to the dragons primal state of being”, he knocked against a stone wall for emphasis, “or they simply give up and go hollow. It is a long and arduous path indeed, but I know that it has been done before, in fact it is being done as we speak and it will be done in the future – but only the worthy will prevail. Does this explanation satisfy your curiosity?”, he asked.

 

Ornstein stopped walking and tried to understand what Faraam had just explained to him. It sounded awfully strange and if anyone else had told him that such a thing existed, he might have just laughed in their face. But Faraam had to know, he had spent more time here than anyone else and was basically the leader of the dragon cult. “I have to admit that it doesn't make a lot of sense to me. But then again I don't even understand the motivation that makes people want to turn into dragons in the first place, so why would I find the process more reasonable?”, he mumbled, but then a memory came to mind. “It strikes my attention that you did not mention any stones. Several of the knights I met had been talking about elusive dragon stones that were necessary to achieve the transformation. They were constantly at each others throats to attain them – ”

Faraam interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “Yes yes, those stones exist, but they do not truly turn people into dragons. It is more of an illusion, a weak imitation really, but very popular with those who desire quick results. It is of course very helpful to possess these stones, but they are not strictly necessary. I don't think the humans are aware of this, though”, he smirked and resumed his walk.

Ornstein followed in silence, deeply sunken in thought. Eventually he asked with a quiet voice: “Faraam, do you wish to become a dragon as well?”

“I do”, the God answered without missing a beat, causing great pain to well up in the knights heart, “but not yet. There is unfinished business I will be unable to take care of while being a dragon. Things I can only achieve as a God. For example, who will lead the warriors of sunlight when I am gone? While they can certainly rely on each other, there is no real power to the covenant without divine guidance. And I feel that if I were to become a dragon, I would leave this place for good, I would be gone too far to hear any prayers. My ascension into dragonhood would be my final farewell to this world - do not ask why, I just feel that it will be so.”

 

Ornstein nodded with a grave expression on his face. “I see. The thought that you might turn into a dragon someday has been troubling me for a long time, but I never dared to ask. I suppose I was afraid that I might not like the answer”, he grunted. Faraam placed a hand on his knights shoulder and gently squeezed. “Don't worry. I would not simply turn into a dragon and leave you behind. I will only ascend when my covenant is obsolete and there is nothing more for me to give to the warriors of this world. And as long as there is just one of them left who needs me – be it you or somebody else – I will not leave”, he reassured him. Ornstein felt relieved by this, but at the same time he felt like he was holding Faraam back from what he really wanted. The world was dying and someday the last warriors of sunlight would surely die as well. It was inevitable, and from this day on, Ornstein would be the only person standing between Faraam and his greatest wish. It would be only a matter of time until the God would begin to resent him for it.

The knight took a deep breath and made his decision. With a swift step, he suddenly stood directly in front of Faraam, looking up at the surprised God with pure determination. “Faraam, you know that I love you and my greatest wish is for you to be happy, so if it is really your wish to become a dragon, I will not stand in your way. Hear me out: When the day finally comes that the last of your warriors dies and you are no longer needed on the battlefields of this world, I refuse to be the chain that tethers you to it. Instead I will turn into a dragon myself and follow you, no matter where you wish to go. If you allow it”, he added, looking deep into the God's stormy eyes in which he could see thoughts racing like clouds. “Even if I don't make the transformation to a full dragon, even if I just become a drake or some malformed bird, I do not care, Faraam”, he continued when the God did not answer, “as long as my new shape will enable me to keep up with you and stay by your side, I will be content.” Faraam hugged him then, almost crushing his bones and making it difficult for him to breathe. “If there is anyone who can become a true dragon, it is you, Ornstein”, he whispered, “for you have so much more in common with them than you realize. You are so brave and faithful... but I cannot ask this of you.”

 

“I will be doing it out of my own free will. You are not getting rid of me that easily”, the knight wheezed. Faraam realized that he was cutting off his air and quickly released him, resting his hands on the other man's shoulders instead. “I apologize, it seems I still haven't gotten used to my recent growth spurt”, he smiled sheepishly as the knight coughed and tried to catch his breath. “It does not matter. We can still decide what to do when the time has come. But you have my word: I will never leave you behind again. Never, no matter what happens”, Faraam declared and stared into Ornstein's eyes as if he could engrave his promise into the knight's heart with his gaze alone.

 

Ornstein kissed him then, standing on his tiptoes and pulling Faraam down by his scarf at the same time. “And I promise that I will continue to follow you to the ends of the world, and beyond if necessary. I would die for you”, the knight whispered into the God's ear as he felt large hands trail down his back and rest on his hipbones. Suddenly, the grip tightened and he was pushed against the nearest wall. Faraam's teeth were at his throat in an instant, leaving bruises as he started to tug at his clothes, asking for permission to take them off. Ornstein knew where this was going and he liked it, so he lowered his arms from where they had been resting around Faraam's neck, and started to shrug off his clothes, feeling lucky for not wearing his armor today.

 

He had to stifle a moan when Faraam instantly descended unto his chest and belly, biting and sucking until there was a trail of dark bruised leading from his neck down to his hipbone. Ornstein felt slick fingers entering him without hesitation, stretching him in a manner that made him feel aroused and embarrassed at the same time.

“You are carrying this around with you?”, Ornstein asked breathlessly and gave the small bottle of oil the God had procured form his pocket an incredulous look.

“You never know”, Faraam winked at him with a smile that was all teeth. Turning into a dragon would be easy for this man, he already had the aura of an apex predator. The God did not undress himself, instead he just opened his belt and pulled his dick out, making the situation even more immodest. “Let's hope I am not too big for you yet”, he snickered sardonically as he lifted Ornstein by the hips, the knight's back still pressed against the wall. “Wait – here?!”, Ornstein wheezed in disbelief, finding it hard to imagine himself in such an unbecoming position – being taken against a wall like some common street whore, outside nonetheless. “Why not? We are all alone”, the God whispered in his ear, “this is my temple and you. Are. My. Sacrifice!”

With these words, he pulled the knight down by the hips and sheathed himself to the hilt in one single thrust. Instead of crying out, Ornstein let his head fall back against the wall and emitted a low, throaty moan. It felt really good, and he was a bit ashamed when he once again realized that Faraam's manhandling turned him on like nothing else. The way his muscles moved under his skin and his eyes fixated his prey – he was just like on the battlefield, a war machine made from flesh, blood and thunder. He took what he wanted, without compromise. Ornstein watched him with hooded eyes, wrapping his arms and legs around the other man and grabbing fistfuls of silvery, long hair as he was rocked against the smooth stone wall in a rhythm that threatened to send him spiraling down into madness.

 

When they had first become lovers, it had felt a little strange to give up all control and be so passive while Faraam did all the work, but he had soon understood that the God enjoyed taking control just as much as Ornstein enjoyed giving it up. He loved to hold absolute power about the person beneath him, making them squirm and scream, just like a cat that played with it's prey. And yet, Ornstein knew exactly that he would stop at once if he asked him to do so – he had been forced to do this once when Faraam had accidentally dislocated his shoulder, having held Ornstein by his outstretched arms behind his back while taking him from behind and pulling a _little_ too hard. As soon as the injured knight had yelled for him to stop, Faraam's sadistic onslaught had immediately subsided and given way to great concern, a ton of apologies and a hastily performed relocation of his shoulder. This very knowledge enabled him to completely submit to Faraam, moaning in a low voice as the God plowed into him as if he wanted to split him in two.

It did not take long for him to feel the first telltale fluttering of his hole around Faraam's dick, his balls drawing up as a searing heat began to coil in his lower belly. His muscles tried to contract, but Faraam was stretching him to the limit and there was no give. At first it almost felt like having a cramp and he groaned in discomfort, but suddenly the pain turned into immense pleasure as the coil snapped and his muscles began to spasm uncontrollably, his legs clenching around the God's waist as he let out a silent scream. Faraam sunk his teeth into the knight's shoulder as his own hips began to stutter, and with a growl he snapped his hips upwards one last time, his stormy eyes boring into Ornstein's own. For some reason Faraam always wanted to look him in the eyes when he came, just like the usually looked into peoples eyes when he killed them. The knight felt a shiver running down his spine.

 

Panting and thoroughly exhausted, Ornstein slid to the floor as soon as Faraam let go of him, his legs were too wobbly to support him now. “That escalated quickly”, he gasped and watched as Faraam tucked his dick back into his clothes, adjusted his belt and looked almost normal while Ornstein was completely wrecked. It was not fair. “We should take a bath. Are you coming, Ornstein?”, he asked casually while turning to leave, trying and failing to hide his smug grin. _You bastard_ , the knight thought and reached for his clothes, but suddenly a strong gust of wind blew them out of his reach. It looked suspiciously like one of Faraam's wind attacks. With an exasperated sigh, Ornstein slowly turned his head to look at Faraam who was still standing there with his back turned towards him, but his shoulders trembled a little – a clear sign that he was laughing. Whenever the God was in a good mood, he turned into an asshole that teased Ornstein until he wanted to rip his own hair out. When he was in a bad mood, he became grumpy and withdrawn. “I just can't win”, Ornstein huffed as he finally got up, picked up his scattered clothes and marched past the God towards the bath house, playfully punching him in the side as he passed him.

 

When he finally reached the bath house and lowered himself into the warm water, he became aware of the bruises on his chest and belly that formed a blurry constellation in his peripheral vision. His limbs were sore and his rear end hurt quite a lot, but he was a warrior and used to pain. He rested his head on the edge of the pool and closed his eyes with a sigh, letting his long red hair float in the water like crimson algae. A few minutes passed before the noise of soft steps announced the approach of Faraam, who proceeded to sit down on the pools edge just behind Ornsteins head, starting to wash his hair without saying a word. It was an unspoken rule between them that Faraam had to help him clean up after a roll in the hay, because Ornstein was very proud and quick to feel used or humiliated, especially with the domineering way Faraam treated him sometimes.

A green eye cracked open and looked up at the God who was smiling down at him as he dragged his nails across the knights scalp. “That _sacrifice_ quote was rather obscene, you blasphemous oaf”, Ornstein scolded him playfully, but Faraam laughed and said: ”You know, I have been thinking about involving an actual altar in our... activities. The one in the mausoleum?” He grinned, clearly enjoying the scandalized look on Ornstein's face. “No way, Faraam, we are not doing that on an altar. That would be crossing a line”, he declared and sent some water splashing up at the God. “But why not? It is _my_ altar, and I can do whatever I want with it”, he said with an exaggerated pout, “please Ornstein, I have been wanting to do that for ages!”

 

The knight laughed. “You said so yourself: I am technically a god as well, and if I say that I would feel offended by romping around on an altar, you should respect that”, he winked. Faraam was finished with the knight's hair and proceeded to lower himself into the pool as well. “You are such a bore”, he mumbled and vanished below the surface to get his ridiculously huge mane properly drenched. When he emerged again, Ornstein could not hold himself back. He started laughing uncontrollably at the limp strands that were no longer sticking up from Faraam's head, but hanging down and covering his face like a dense curtain of gray seaweed.“You look like a creature from the bog!”, he wheezed, but Faraam quickly placed a hand atop the knights head and dunked him without warning. Ornstein sputtered and coughed when he was finally able to raise his head above the surface again.

“If you are done laughing, you insolent knight, I have something to tell you. Great news actually”, Faraam announced and crossed his arms behind his head, showing his teeth in a lazy smile. The knight rubbed the water out of his eyes and tugged the hair out of his face, before placing his hand on top of Faraam's head, trying to dunk him as well. But he didn't budge, no matter how hard Ornstein pressed down. The God's smile grew wider and wider as he watched his knight struggle, suddenly gripping Ornstein's wrist and pulling him onto his lap in a single, fluid move. “Hey!”, the knight protested but Faraam grabbed him by the wrists and crossed them behind his own back, effectively locking the other man in place.

 

“Would you listen for once, Ornstein? It is rude to interrupt your king like that”, he scolded with feigned annoyance as he rested his chin on Ornstein's head. The knight struggled to get free, but then remembered that he was basically sitting on the God's limp dick. Not wanting to excite him further, he ceased his struggling and begrudgingly accepted his fate. “Alright then. What did you wish to tell me, Faraam?”, he wheezed, still somewhat breathless form laughing so hard. Faraam let go of his wrists and wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

“As you know, my dear friend the King of the Storm has been slain by Havel. Without him, it would be troublesome to get to the battles of my warriors in time because the other dragons lack his ability to swiftly travel with the storms. That's why I asked the Serpents to think of an alternative, and they just informed me of their success! You know, there are talented summoners among them and they actually found a way to let us place summoning signs from afar. Like this, we will be able to join the battles without having to travel at all, we can simply be summoned to wherever we're currently needed! Isn't that great?”

 

Ornstein immediately felt his mood lighten up. He looked up at Faraam and asked: “So this means – that is amazing! What are we waiting for? But wait – if we are being summoned, won't the warriors notice us? What if they recognize us for who we really are?”

“They won't, because we will be wearing different armor”, Faraam explained, “the serpents already delivered them to my quarters. There is no way for them to recognize us when we are completely hidden behind metal.” Ornstein disliked the thought of wearing a different armor than his own, but it was probably the only way. His own golden lion armor would be recognized instantly, and Faraam's usual attire looked far too similar to Lords Gwyn's to be a coincidence. “Can we at least use our own weapons?” he asked, “I would rather not go into battle without my spear.” Faraam seemed to think it over, then he shrugged and said: “I don't think they will recognize us by our weapons alone. Spears are rather popular these days, and as long as we don't overdo it with the lightning attacks, we should be fine.”

Ornstein was thrilled by the idea. After Havel's raid on the temple and their falling out afterwards, they had been happy to be able to rest for a few days, doing nothing but meditating and relaxing, recharging their drained batteries. But now he could feel the desire to fight rising up in his chest, the battle was calling him and he was sure that Faraam was feeling the same. The knight finally managed to break free from the God's grasp and hastily scrubbed himself clean. “Hurry up, Faraam, before we petrify in this pool!”, he called when he was finally done and hurried to get dressed. “Eager for a good fight, hm?”, Faraam chuckled, but he too began to finish his bath.

 

When they were both dressed, they made a beeline to Faraam's quarters. Ornstein was eager to see what their new armor would look like, having no idea what to expect. Faraam had always favored extravagant and awe-inspiring armor and Ornstein remembered well the impressive Dragonslayer Armor the firstborn had worn into battle ages ago. It had been very similar to the knights own, sporting the same red plume and general design, albeit more bulky and with a dragon styled helmet in contrast to his own lion themed one. Eventually, he had relinquished it in favor of his newer dragonscale armor that was less heavy and restricting, allowing him to perform incredible, airborne stunts on the battlefield.

“Do you like it?”, Faraams voice pulled him out of his thoughts, “It is nothing fancy, but we don't want to stand out too much after all. For a temporary arrangement it should suffice, don't you think?” Ornstein's vision emerged from his memories and focused on the reality in front of him. There, in the middle of the room, were two sets of armor that looked rather similar – even though Faraam's set was larger, of course. The knight was surprised to find that they were not as shabby or terrible as he had expected, even though they were a far cry from what he usually wore: They consisted of a silver helmet with a T- slit for a visor and a metal crest on top, simple pauldrons and gauntlets as well as a breastplate that was somewhat reluctantly decorated. There were no greaves and instead of tassets there was an emerald surcoat as well as some chainmail here and there. But the most striking feature had to be the white fur that was draped around the shoulders. Ornstein realized that he had seen this armor before, a long, long time ago, but he could not remember the time and place.

 

“It's actually quite nice”, he said, “but it looks familiar. Where did you get it, Faraam?” The God simply smiled and answered: “I will only say as much: It is a suitable armor for a lion knight like yourself. Now, would you help my with my hair, please? It will be impossible to wear a helmet while it is loose.” “Of course, your majesty. Take a seat”, the knight grinned. As soon as Faraam had dropped into his usual meditation pose, Ornstein positioned himself behind the taller man and started to braid his long, unruly hair like he had done so many times before. But this time, he did not need to sit down himself, because Faraam's head reached to his clavicle by now. _By the sun, I will never get used to this, he is huge_ , Ornstein thought with a look of amazement on his face. In the age of dragons, Faraam had only been a little taller than himself, but now there was a considerable difference in height.

He took a little longer than necessary, enjoying the rough feel of the God's weird, horselike hair. When he was finished at last, Faraam got up from the floor and shook his hair once to see if it would come loose, but it didn't. “Good job, Ornstein. Now let's gear up and place that summoning sign already.” He didn't have to be told twice. The armor was rather simple and easy to put on, even though he had never worn it before, and it fit like a glove. When he turned, he saw a taller version of himself already waiting by the window. After checking their equipment one last time, they took their respective spears and jumped out of the window, running to the mausoleum where the summoners were already waiting.

 

There were three of them: Positioned in a triangle, they were mumbling obscure incantations while moving in the weird but elegant way only a serpent could move. Ornstein watched them with interest, he did not understand how it all worked, but it was quite fascinating. Suddenly, Faraam stepped forth and fell down on one knee inside of the triangle, producing a soapstone from his pocket and writing some illegible word onto the dusty stones. Then, he got up again and left the circle of summoners whose chanting grew louder and whose movements turned more expressive by the second, until they suddenly raised their staffs high into the air and the glowing word on the ground vanished.

“Well done, you may rest now”, Faraam told the serpents who bowed to him before hurriedly shuffling away. “I wrote both of our names into the sign. Now all we need to do is wait”, Faraam explained to a bemused Ornstein, “it might take a while for us to be summoned. Perhaps we can - “ he was interrupted by the sound of a high pitched bell and a bright light that started to seep out from under his armor, and Ornstein's as well. “Now that did not take long at all!”, he exclaimed joyfully, “Hold on to your spear, we are being summoned!” Ornstein held on to his spear with one hand and to Faraam's wrist with his other, suddenly concerned that they might be separated. He had never been summoned by human knights before and the sensation was entirely alien, frightening even. It felt like he was growing lighter by the second, gravity releasing it's grip on him until he felt as if he was floating. His surroundings were blurred by the bright lights and started to shift.

 

Before he knew it, they were suddenly standing inside of a large hall – a cathedral nonetheless. In front of them stood a single knight that looked thoroughly beaten up. He was wearing a bucket helm that was adorned with a single, red feather, some sort of grass mat covered his shoulders and his white jupon looked dirty and tattered around the edges.

He would have looked pitiful, were it not for the bright symbol of a sun that covered his chest and gave him an aura of hopefulness.

 

“Oh hello there”, the knight called out when he spotted them, “how very fortunate to meet fellow warriors of sunlight under these dire circumstances. Thank you so much for letting yourself be summoned. Haha, I must say I rarely ever summon others for I much prefer to be the one helping, but I have to admit that I could really use some help myself for a change. I am Solaire of Astora, and I -” He didn't stop talking, but Ornstein suddenly tuned him out when he realized that the cathedral they were in seemed oddly familiar. He felt his bones shrink in terror and his head spin as he slowly turned to look at Faraam, cursing the helmet on his head that obscured every facial expression. But he did not need to see his face, his rigid stance and balled fists made it obvious that he was just as aware of their whereabouts as the lion knight was. The high vaults, grand pillars and overall design was unmistakable, especially for Ornstein who had spent centuries in this place, guarding it: They were standing inside the entrance hall of Anor Londo's great cathedral, and in front of them, behind the still blathering knight, stood the great door that led to the main hall of the cathedral – or rather, the door _should_ have been there, but Ornstein couldn't see it. It was enshrouded in fog.

 

 


	9. Homecoming

There was silence in the cathedral as Faraam and Ornstein just stood there, motionless and in shock. Even the talkative knight had finally picked up on the tense atmosphere and was looking at them in silence now, quizzically tilting his head. “...ah, this is uncomfortable”, he mumbled, “apparently you did not wish to be summoned at all. My apologies.“

“No, it is all right”, came Faraam's slightly shaky voice, “we will help you, don't worry. Just... let us briefly talk in private, it will not take long... Solaire, was it?” “Yes, my name is Solaire”, the sun knight answered, still with uncertainty in his voice. Faraam nodded at him. Then, he placed a hand on Ornstein's shoulder and roughly dragged him along until they were out of earshot. “What is going on here?”, he hissed and shook the knight by his shoulders, “you told me that everyone abandoned this city, and yet this cathedral is obviously not abandoned at all! You better have a good explanation for this!” Ornstein frantically tried to remember what he had told Faraam when he had arrived in Archdragon peak: _I stayed behind and protected Anor Londo like you ordered me to, but the city is dead now and the Gods fled to foreign lands. There is nothing left to protect and so I came here, in search of you._ Yes. Yes, these had been his exact words. He had never mentioned that Gwyndolin had stayed behind, so naturally Faraam had to assume that _all_ of the Gods had fled – including Gwyndolin – leaving the city truly deserted. But then again, Faraam had so many allies who were capable of flight, summoning and other miraculous deeds, it should have been easy for the God to keep an eye on the City, and Ornstein had actually expected Faraam to inform himself at least _somewhat_ on the general situation. His failure to do so just proved that he didn't care, and Ornstein felt suddenly hurt by this realization. He had waited for ages, thinking about Faraam every day but the God had apparently all but forgotten about them, had not even bothered to look after them _once_ in a thousand years. Grinding his teeth, he wrestled down his sorrow and disappointment and started to explain. “I tried to convince him to leave, but he refused!”, he hissed, shame and rage preventing him from lifting his gaze.

 

“Who?”, Faraam growled and leaned forward with impatience. “...Lord Gwyndolin. Everyone left, but he was too stubborn! He believed that he alone would be able to save this city! But there _is_ nothing left to save, it all has fallen apart a long time ago!” Faraam let go of him and pressed a hand to his own visor, as if he was having a headache. “I cannot believe you kept this from me”, he groaned and shook his head, the unmistakable tension of rage rising up in his body. “You ordered me to protect Gwynivere because Seath had begun to stalk her, remember? Gwynivere  left with everyone else, but Gwyndolin insisted on upholding the illusion of a stable and powerful Anor Londo, although there isn't even anyone _left_ who could be fooled by it! The Gods are gone and the human kingdoms lie in ruins! I know when a battle is lost Faraam, and this city is beyond saving! And you never looked after us even though you have enough flying creatures at your command! You even could have _come back_ when all of the Gods had left, nobody would have punished you for your return, but you didn't even give us a sign of life! I thought you simply didn't care anymore, neither about this city nor about any of us!”, the knight ranted, now angry himself.

 

“You still could have _told_ me! _I_ decide what I do and do not care about!”, the God shouted in a booming voice, causing the knight to flinch. Solaire was looking at them from a distance, fidgeting and looking very uncomfortable now. Faraam sighed. “We will discuss this _later_ ”, he hissed with ice in his voice, “now we will help this knight over there deal with whatever is giving him so much trouble.”

“Wait!”, Ornstein called after him, but Faraam ignored him and stalked over to the waiting sun knight. Ornstein followed a few steps behind, feeling irritated. Would the God really help this sun knight attack Anor Londo? _Ridiculous!_ A few seconds ago he had pretended to still care about the city, and now he wanted to attack it?! He only hoped that they wouldn't have to kill any old friends of theirs. But if Faraam ordered him to do so, he would not disobey him, for his allegiance to Faraam overruled everything else. “Alright then, what kind of assistance do you require?”, the God asked Solaire, his voice perfectly calm again. “...well, I was hoping for some help with defeating the guardians of this cathedral. I cannot seem to best them by myself”, Solaire admitted and hung his head in shame.

 

Ornstein had secretly hoped that Faraam would tell Solaire that attacking the cathedral was a bad idea, that he would try and talk him out of it. But the God placed a reassuring hand on the sun knight's shoulder and rasped: “Worry not, we will help you to defeat them. Lead the way, Knight Solaire.” The lion knight frowned as they approached the fog gate, knowing well that Faraam would probably get even more mad at him because of what awaited them on the other side. But when he reached for Faraam's arm to get his attention, his hand was batted away with a growl of “Not now!”

“Suit yourself”, Ornstein grumbled, “but don't say I didn't try to warn you.” They entered the fog and time seemed to slow down. Executioner Smough, who had helped Ornstein to defend the cathedral for such a long time, stood in the middle of the large hall as if he had been expecting them. His grotesque armor and gigantic hammer gave him an eerie appearance, making him appear even taller than he already was. On the balcony to his left, a shift of reflecting metal announced the presence of another combatant: Golden lion armor glinted in the sunlight that shone through the cathedrals high windows, a red plume trailed after the figure as it walked towards the balcony's edge. It was the illusionary Ornstein that had been created by Gwyndolin out of the powerful shard of Gwyn's Lordsoul, the very shard that Ornstein had given up for this. It looked absolutely convincing: The armor, the posture, even the small unconscious movements the lion knight always made – everything about this illusion looked stunningly real.

Faraam looked at the illusion, then at the real Ornstein and eventually at the illusion again, obviously bewildered. Ornstein had to stifle a spiteful laugh as he watched Faraam's incredulous reaction to the Fake-Ornstein that now proceeded to leap off of the balcony and landed gracefully next to the executioner. He wondered whether Smough would recognize him, though. When Ornstein had left, Smough had been unaware of the fact that his battle-companion had been replaced by an illusion, but it was possible that he had figured it out by now – especially because Ornstein was currently wielding his signature weapon.

His thoughts were interrupted when Fake-Ornstein suddenly came charging towards them, but in the blink of an eye Faraam stood in front of him and Solaire, effortlessly blocking Fake-Ornstein's attack with his own spear. The two of them took the hint and ganged up on the executioner, leaving Faraam to fight the illusion. It would have been difficult for Ornstein to fight an exact copy of himself who knew every single one of his moves, and while he felt a little bad to just slaughter Smough after all he had done for him, he told himself that it was only _Smough_. The man had executed people in the most painful ways possible, often slowly crushing them to death under his huge hammer. As if that wasn't bad enough, he had also cannibalized them afterwards, making stew and casserole out of their remains. _And even if he wasn't a cannibalistic monster, I would slay him anyway, because Faraam gave me the order,_ he thought. There was absolutely no reason to feel guilty about it – and yet he did.

 

Solaire proved to be a welcome distraction: For a human knight, he fought surprisingly well, dodging the far reaching swipes of the hammer without getting hit even once. He was much shorter than Ornstein, but next to the executioner, Solaire looked tiny. Still, the confidence behind his attacks was astonishing as he held his own against an opponent that was so much bigger than himself. Smough was in obvious distress as he desperately tried to defend himself from Solaire _and_ Ornstein who attacked him without cease, never giving him a chance to regain his balance and actually plan an attack himself. All he could do was stumble around the hall while blocking whatever attack he could block while the spear and the sword repeatedly stabbed the weak spots of his armor in a hailstorm of strikes and jabs. He spun in circles and flailed his hammer around in a desperate attempt to bring some space between himself and his attackers, but they were unyielding. Whenever the executioner managed to push one of them back, the other would use the chance to attack him form behind.

Blood began to seep out of Smough's armor, leaving ugly red smudges on the formerly pristine marble floor. Ornstein felt genuine pain in his heart now, wondering when he had begun to think of Smough as his friend. He quickly glanced at Faraam to remind himself who he was doing this for, and was very surprised when he saw that the God still had not beaten the Fake-Ornstein. It should have been an easy fight for him, Faraam had always been much stronger than him and had easily bested him in every single match so far, but now it looked like he was holding back, just blocking Fake-Ornstein's attacks and preventing him from helping the executioner. He was obviously reluctant to kill somebody that looked and moved just like his first knight.

 

_We have to end this now before the both of us die from heartbreak!_ , the lion knight thought, feeling irritated and sorrowful. He waited until Solaire had once again caught the attention of the executioner, then he charged Smough and plunged his spear into the slit where his gorget met the breastplate, unloading a huge blast of electricity. He could hear Solaire gag when the stench of charring flesh permeated the air and Smough's huge body went into spasm. After what felt like ages, the executioner finally grew motionless, slowly tilting backwards until he hit the ground with a deafening bang that shattered the marble floor beneath. With misty eyes, the lion knight watched as Solaire gave him a thumbs up and immediately ran over to help Faraam. He almost reached out to the lifeless body of his former friend, but then quickly withdrew his hand again. He did not deserve to claim Smough's soul, for he had killed him in cold blood, even though the executioner had saved his life several times when they had been defending this cathedral together.

 

With a sharp intake of breath, he finally turned to join Faraam and Solaire, knowing well the only remedy for his pain there could be: With an unholy scream he charged the illusion at full speed, attacking it with a fervor that gave Solaire the perfect opening: The sun knight thrust his straightsword deep into Fake-Ornstein's armpit until it emerged on the other side. Solaire twisted the blade and pulled out again in a single, fluid move, perforating heart and lungs at the same time and causing a fountain of blood to pour out of Fake-Ornstein's sides. Being impaled like this was deadly, even for a powerful knight like himself, and he was not surprised when Fake-Ornstein staggered, sank to his knees and fell flat on his face.

 

Faraam slowly knelt down next to the dying illusion, taking off the golden lion helmet with slightly shaky hands, but there was no body beneath it. The armor was empty. “I must be losing my mind”, he growled and got up again, turning to look at Solaire who had tried to get his attention by clearing his throat. “Thank you so much for aiding me in this fight, I express my deepest gratitude to the both of you!”, Solaire exclaimed happily, “That was truly a great display of jolly cooperation, likely one of the best I ever had the joy to take part in!” A warm glow started to fill the air between the three warriors as three sunlight medals materialized from thin air. Solaire snatched them out of the glowing haze and handed them out to the other two with a routine that spoke volumes about his experience in the covenant.

 

“You are very skilled, Solaire”, Faraam spoke up, now with fondness in his voice, “you did not even take a single hit. Do you mind if I ask what gave you so much trouble before? After seeing you fight like this, it is hard to imagine that you couldn't beat them by yourself.” Solaire's change of posture betrayed his joy over the praise, even though his face was still hidden behind his visor. “Thank you, but I truly did not stand a chance by myself. Perhaps I am simply performing better with friends by my side”, he laughed, but then he assumed a pose of alarm “Oh no! I did not mean to take your friendship for granted! After all, we barely know each other-” Faraam stopped him with a wave of his hand. “Ah, do not worry, whoever is not a foe in this damned age can surely be considered a friend, don't you think? Besides, there is no need for someone of your skill to be so humble.” Solaire laughed again, sheepishly placing a hand behind his head. Ornstein found that he liked him – knights who retained their modest and friendly nature at his level of skill were quite rare. He felt almost compelled to engage in friendly banter with the smaller knight, almost forgetting his depressed mood, but then the God asked the sun knight a question that made him nervous again: “Our task here is now complete, but may I ask you something before we leave? What exactly are you doing in this forsaken city? What duty brought you here?”

 

Solaire pondered on the question for a while, then he seemed to choose his words carefully: “It is not a duty that was imposed on me like it is the case with many undead, but rather a personal quest that brought me here.” He turned and looked out of the high cathedral window, gazing up into the sun that shone brightly though the stained glass. “You must know that I became undead on purpose to fulfill a long harbored dream of mine: I wish to find my very own sun, and for this reason I traveled to this ancient land, the birthplace of Lord Gwyn, Lord of sunlight. You probably doubt my sanity now, and I won't hold it against you, for I know how silly it sounds. But yes, this is the reason why I came here.” Faraam crouched down to peek into Solaire's helmet, bringing their visors close together to look into his eyes. “What do you mean, you are seeking your own sun? Are we talking about a real sun here, or a figurative one?”, he asked while placing his hands on the sun knight's shoulders to keep him from backing away. “Well, I- I am not sure myself”, Solaire stammered, apparently confused about the sudden invasion of his personal space, “I suppose finding the answer to this is part of my quest.” Faraam gave him a long, thoughtful look, his gray eyes boring into Solaire's blue ones before finally releasing the man who instantly took a few steps back.

“I can see that your eyes are unclouded by sorcery or madness”, the God declared as he got up from the ground again, “I suppose your quest is no more crazy than any other in this day and age. Would you mind if my companion and I accompanied you a little further? There is _something_ about this city I would like to figure out.” Solaire seemed a little intimidated, but nodded after a while. “Why of course! Who am I to turn down some jolly companionship in this lonely age? But... forgive my prying, but it seems you never introduced yourself. If I had to guess, I'd say you two are from Berenike? You are quite tall.”

 

“Call me Faraam”, the God said carelessly, making Ornstein gasp in shock, “and my companion's name is... Leo.” _He's insane!_ , the lion knight thought, _he just gave away our real names, why would he do that?!_ But he would not challenge Faraam's authority by calling him out for this shit in front of his covenant members – even if it was just a single knight. Solaire did not seem to recognize the names anyway, simply nodding and saying: “Alright then! Let's take a look at that balcony up there, shall we?” before cheerfully marching towards one of the round elevators that had started to move by themselves. “Are you crazy?”, Ornstein hissed as he and Faraam followed a few steps behind, “why would you give him our real names? Why are we wearing a disguise when you were just going to blow our cover anyway?” Faraam just shrugged and crossed his arms behind his head. “He asked for my name so I gave it. Who cares? He seems reasonable, and I'm not fond of lies and half-truths unlike _some_ people here”, he jabbed at him. “As I said, I thought you had informed yourself about the situation! I did not expect you to be so unconcerned with everything!”, the lion knight hissed back.

That was all he could say, for they now entered the elevator and were standing close to Solaire again. “I sure do wonder why that lion armor was empty and still bled”, Faraam mused aloud and looked at the slowly approaching ceiling. Ornstein could have sworn that the elevators had been way faster back in the day, not the slow, creaky mess they were now. “I have no idea. Are you sure it _really_ _was_ empty and you didn't just pull the head off with the helmet?”, he asked with a joyless and irritated voice. He was sure Faraam had figured it out by now and just wanted to annoy him. “I believe it was a magical construct of sorts”, Solaire piped up as they finally reached the top and stepped out of the elevator. “Oh, behold! The door!”

 

A few meters to their right, a huge door sat in the white stone wall. It was not fully closed and the light that radiated out of the narrow opening instantly attracted the attention of the three warriors. “Could this be...my sun?”, Solaire breathed as he slowly started to walk towards the door, entranced by the light. “I would assume that you know what awaits behind the door, Ornstein the liar-knight, but I won't ask. Let it be a surprise”, Faraam sighed dramatically, making a show of being displeased and disappointed, but the return of his childish sense of humor was a sign that he wasn't _too_ mad anymore. “Oh, that? That is just an illusion of Gwynivere that I guarded with my life for the last 1000 years and that I almost died for several times, had it not been for a friend I just had to kill in cold blood for your entertainment”, Ornstein grouched, shouldering past Faraam to keep up with Solaire who was now jogging towards the door.

 

The God stopped in his tracks. “An illusion of- wait. This is Gwyndolin's doing? The empty copy of your armor down there as well?” The lion knight halted and slowly turned to look at the God with an exasperated groan. “...Faraam, _please_ tell me that you already knew this. What else could an empty armor be but an illusion? You can't be _that_ witless.” Suddenly the lion knights helmet was gone, Faraam was looming over him and his hand was squeezing Ornstein's throat, a clear warning that he had finally overstepped his boundaries. “I've had enough of your insolence, boy! When I told you that we were equals I did not mean for you to insult me and tell lies”, Faraam growled in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “If you cannot handle your freedom and equality, I shall take it away again. So behave”, he warned in a low voice. A yelling and screaming Faraam was already scary, but when he was speaking in such a low voice, it spelled trouble. The fact that Ornstein could not see his face made it even more unsettling, he clearly had underestimated the God's bad mood. “... I apologize. I did not mean to insult you”, he wheezed and Faraam finally let go of him, shoving the helmet in his face as he walked past. “One more misstep and I will put you in your place. Now let's go”, Faraam growled. They approached the door in silence. Solaire had only opened it far enough to fit through himself, but it was still too narrow for them, so Faraam gripped the door handles and shoved the door wings aside with brute force, making them crash into the walls as he entered the room with heavy steps and clenched fists. Ornstein waited by the doorstep, suddenly unsure how to behave around the mad God. It was probably wise to stay away from him until his ire had subsided.

 

The sight before them was truly awe inspiring, even for an illusion: Gwynivere, the princess of sunlight, was lying on her side on an elevated couch of grand proportions, illuminated only by the sunlight that came streaming in through the window behind her and gave her a full-body-halo. The light was caught in the myriads of layers of the veils and shawls that were artfully draped across her body. She was way taller than she had ever been in life and Ornstein was sure that the gigantic display of _feminine charms_ on her chest would be a welcome sight to any undead who came by. Solaire had to be the very first person to be disappointed by it: He was sitting in front of the couch in utter defeat, a golden bowl lying on the ground next to him. Faraam was about to approach him, but Gwynivere's voice suddenly filled the room: “Thou hast journeyed far, and overcome much, chosen Undead. Come hither, child…”

“What is this nonsense?”, Faraam snarled, “what does this bloated version of my sist-”

“Oh chosen Undead, I am Gwynevere, Daughter of Lord Gwyn and Queen of Sunlight. Since the day Father his form did obscureth, I have awaited thee. I bequeath the Lordvessel to thee. And beseech thee: Succeed Lord Gwyn, and inheriteth the Fire of our world. Thou shall endeth this eternal twilight, and avert further Undead sacrifices”, the illusion spoke without even paying attention to Faraam. A golden glow made the air shine as another Lordvessel manifested itself, this time in front of Faraam who just stared at it, his clenched fists trembling with rage and electric sparks. This was not good. Ornstein decided that he should probably try to calm him down before he trashed the place and gingerly stepped into the room as well.

 

“Thou hast journey'd far, and overcome much, chosen Undead. Come hither, child…”, the illusion addressed Ornstein. Solaire took off his helmet and threw it against a wall, then covered his face in his hands and produced a heartbreaking sob. “Oh chosen Undead, I am Gwynevere, Daughter of Lord Gwyn and Queen of Sun-” she didn't come any further than this – Faraam's patience had finally run out, he wordlessly lifted his spear and charged the illusion. To the surprise of everyone, it dissolved into a fine, glowing mist as soon as it was struck for the first time, falling to the ground like snow and disappearing into thin air. But it made sense: Ornstein's illusion had been powered by his shard of Gwyn's Lordsoul, but Gwynivere had left nothing behind to give any substance to her illusion. This was probably the best Gwyndolin could do without a base to work with. Faraam crouched down and placed a hand on Solaire's shoulder to comfort him, but he was interrupted once more when the bright sunlight suddenly faded away like a blown out candle, leaving the room in absolute darkness save for the small amount of moonlight that shone through the windows now.

A voice, male this time, resounded through the room and the empty hall: “Thou that tarnishes the Godmother's image, I am Gwyndolin. And thy transgression shall not go unpunish-” but once again, Faraam did not wait for him to finish: “You will show your face _right now_ , Gwyndolin, or I _will_ come and get you! Do you hear me? And be done with your posh language, I am _sick_ of it!”, he shouted and stomped on the ground, sending lightning flying in all directions.

 

Gwyndolin did not answer for a long time, but finally he said: “Find me in our Lord father's tomb, nameless one. But leave the human behind, for he is not fit to tread on holy ground-” “Insult my warriors one more time and I will drench that holy ground of yours in blood”, Faraam whispered in a hoarse voice, suddenly very silent again, but the way Gwyndolin stopped talking mid-sentence was proof that he had heard him nonetheless. “Let's go, stay close to me”, he instructed the two knights and marched out of the trashed room, not bothering with the elevator but simply jumping off of the balcony instead. Solaire hurried to pick up his helmet and looked helplessly at the huge drop that awaited. Faraam would be gone by the time the slow elevator would carry them to the ground, so Ornstein just picked the smaller knight up and gave him a piggyback ride. “Hold on tight, Faraam will kill me if you get hurt”, he mumbled half-jokingly, but it was probably the truth.

“T-thank you, Leo”, Solaire stuttered and wrapped his arms tightly around Ornstein's chest. The poor sun knight looked exhausted and sorrowful and Ornstein really didn't mind carrying him, even though in earlier times, he rather would've killed himself than swallowing his ridiculously huge pride and letting a mere human ride on his back. He had finally begun to share Faraam's fondness of the tiny, resourceful warriors that suffered so much but never gave up. Effortlessly he jumped down into the hall and dashed after Faraam who had almost reached the cathedral's main gate, catching up wit him in mere seconds. As soon as they stepped out of the building, the full extent of the destroyed illusion became clear: Not only was the bright afternoon sun replaced with a nightsky; now the formerly lit buildings in the city below were all dark and lifeless. No guards were to be seen, no signs of life anywhere – the city was dark, empty and dead.

 

“I can't believe this. This is so much worse than I thought”, Faraam muttered as Solaire climbed off of the lion knights back and they descended the huge, circular staircase that led to the very place Gwyndolin called home now: The tomb of his father, Gwyn. The tomb had already been built during Gwyn's lifetime as it was custom – after all, building such a huge and prestigious tomb took some time and it had to be complete when the owner finally died – but he had never been buried there, instead heading off to the kiln to feed himself to the first flame. It had been a desperate attempt to prolong the age of fire, but his sacrifice had only postponed the inevitable.

“Faraam, do you really intend to kill your own brother?”, Ornstein asked carefully, taking off his helmet and looking up at the God. To his surprise, Faraam took his own helmet off as well and loosened his braided hair with a flick of the wrist, his huge mane instantly sticking up in the air again. “I don't know, Ornstein”, he muttered and threw the helmet aside carelessly, “I would rather not kill my own kin but this... _deception_ is just unbearable. We will see.” Solaire was following behind them, but he was no longer hunched over in sadness and exhaustion. Instead, his visor was focused on Faraam now, never taking his gaze off of him as if he was scared that the God would disappear if he so much as blinked. Did he know that Gwyndolin was a God, and therefore his brother had to be a God as well? But it didn't matter if he knew their identity, he had already seen too much anyway. _I just hope we don't have to kill him_ , Ornstein thought, but this scenario was highly unlikely. Had he been a mere civilian, he would have been doomed for sure, but Faraam loved his warriors dearly and would probably forgive them almost anything – as long as they were brave, strong and had faith in him.

 

When they reached the tomb, the illusion that usually hid the entrance had already been removed. Ornstein reassuringly patted Faraam's back as they entered and the God briefly ruffled his hair. “Keep up, Solaire”, Faraam called when the knight stopped on the doorstep. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude where I am not welcome”, the sun knight mumbled, but Ornstein quickly retraced his steps to the entrance, put an arm around Solaire's shoulder and dragged him along. “It is alright, Lord Faraam has invited you”, he smiled reassuringly, “besides, you have earned it. You must be very disappointed after finding such a dull illusion after such an arduous journey.”

Suddenly, the sun Knight took off his own helmet as well and gazed up at Ornstein with wide, blue eyes. “Is it really him?”, he whispered, “the firstborn son of Lord Gwyn?” Ornstein regarded him with a thoughtful look. “What gives you the idea?”, he asked. “Well, we are inside of Lord Gwyn's tomb, and the voice – this Gwyndolin – asked him to meet him in their Lord Father's tomb, so he has to be Lord Gwyn's son. Right?”, Solaire asked with a hopeful smile. Well, it would be pointless to deny it now. “You are correct. Lord Faraam is the firstborn son of Lord Gwyn, and also the leader of your covenant”, Ornstein explained in a hushed voice so Faraam couldn't hear them.

But the gasp that erupted from Solaire's mouth rendered his efforts void and the God cast them a warning glance over his shoulder. “I knew it!”, Solaire whispered and suddenly looked ridiculously happy again. “I understand that you are happy, Solaire, but we must be very careful now. Stay close to me and keep quiet please”, Ornstein implored him in a low voice. “Yes, of course, my apologies”, Solaire whispered but the wide grin never vanished from his face.

 

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, and Faraam's steps grew more heavy and forceful the longer they walked, until his fists were clenched again and he finally lifted his spear and rushed forwards in a strong gust of wind that almost sent the other knights sprawling on the floor. Suddenly the corridor appeared much shorter, in fact the entrance was located just about ten meters behind them. When Ornstein turned around again, he could see Faraam standing at the threshold of a large room – the tomb. “Gwyndolin! I cannot believe you are trying to fend me off with your feeble tricks”, Faraam scolded as he entered the main room. It was dark, and in front of the gigantic coffin that took up most of the room, there was a comparably tiny chair with a table in front of it, and on this chair sat a figure clad in white. A golden crown in the shape of a sun adorned the person's head and obscured the upper part of their face; the long, flowing dress that was made from the finest silk and lace exposed a huddled bunch of snakes that made up the person's lower legs. It was Gwyndolin, Lord Gwyn's youngest son who was scribbling away at a scroll and not even looking at Faraam.

 

“Thou broughtst your ignoble minion, I see. Thou artst keen as to defile our Lord Father's tomb”, Gwyndolin sighed, still not looking at him. “I am keen to find out if there is any excuse that would even _begin_ to justify this madness of yours! Explain yourself while you still can!”, Faraam growled in a thunderous voice that echoed menacingly in the stone room, but Gwyndolin was unfazed. “Why, mine actions only serve as to prolong the age of fire, fulfilling our Lord Father's final will. Thou wouldst be aware, hast thou not abandoned us to take the enemies side, nameless one”, Gwyndolin replied, finally looking up from his scroll and seeing Faraam with his spear in hand. “Hast thou come to slay thine own kin, then? How befitting of a former deity of war. Thou hast always been a witless brute, lacking in speech as well as in loyalty to thine own Lord Father.” Ornstein flinched at the word _witless_ , feeling horrible for having called Faraam the same word earlier. But if Faraam was hurt by the insult he did not show it. “Gwyndolin, I _will_ end you if you don't stop this madness! You are deceiving my warriors and sending them to their deaths! I will not stand for it!”, he growled, finally approaching his brother.

“Thou always hast said that every warrior shall die someday, hast thou not? So why dost thou mourn their deaths so suddenly?”, Gwyndolin mocked him with a haughty smile. “My warriors are supposed to die on the battlefield, going out in a blaze of glory while fighting for what they believe in! Instead, you are imposing on their bravery and willingness to help, causing them to fall for your insidious little scheme! Because of you, my warriors are dying _on their_ _knees_ , in despair, fueling a fire that is so old it _cannot_ be rekindled forever, and I will have none of it! This is unnatural and it has to stop _now_!”, Faraam bellowed, and then, with a softer voice: “Gwyndolin, please don't make me do this. You are my brother and I don't wish to harm you, so please, just stop.”

 

But Gwyndolin only laughed, a high pitched, joyless sound. “Thou and I art brothers no longer, nameless one. Thou betrayed us all, and therefore thine words art devoid of relevance. Thou art unable to convince me, no matter what thou sayst.“ Faraam closed his eyes. “Then it cannot be helped”, he sighed, “I'm sorry, Gwyndolin, but you leave me no choice.”

“Thou always hadst a choice, and always didst thou choose unwisely”, Gwyndolin said as he finally got up from is chair and drew his wand, “but this will be thine end, Gwynsen, not mine. Thou hast always been undeserving of our Lord Father's pride and attention, thou never appreciated any of it even though thou wast his favored child. I always resented thou for this, for I was ever faithful to him and still our Lord Father kept me hidden away for my deformities...but now I shall have mine revenge.” As soon as he had spoken this, he swiftly raised his wand and disappeared.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Faraam cursed as the formerly rectangular room started to spin and distort like a kaleidoscope, shifting into a Hexagon with six corridors instead of a single one. Ornstein and Solaire had still been waiting in the corridor and now made a wild dash for the room that had started to drift away from them again as the corridors stretched at a maddening pace until the room – and Faraam – were out of sight. Not even Ornstein had been able to make it in time and now both knights were stuck in the middle of the endless corridor again. “Oh, this cannot be happening!”, Ornstein groaned and kicked the wall in frustration. “...Sir Ornstein? ”, Solaire wheezed as he caught up with him, “Whatever shall we do now? Do you have a plan?” Ornstein held his breath. There was no way for Solaire to know his last name, Faraam had introduced him as _Leo_ and the sun knight had never called him anything else since. Or had he? _This is not the real Solaire, do you take me for a fool, Gwyndolin?_

The lion knight was too proud to play along in this game. He would instantly dispose of the illusion and spite Gwyndolin by showing him that _he_ could not be fooled by his little tricks. Rolling his eyes, he lifted his spear, aimed for the sun on the knights chest and ran Solaire through, his Dragonslayer Spear piercing the chainmail with ease. But the sun knight did not dissolve into mist like Gwynivere had – instead, he violently started coughing up blood that ran freely down the inside of his helmet and dyed the bright symbol of the sun on his chest a burning red. Solaire sank to his knees, gurgling something that somewhat resembled the word _why?_. A hot wave of panic shot through the lion knight. _Oh no, what have I done? It really was him!_ “Oh Solaire, I am so sorry! I thought you were an illusion”, he stammered as he sank to his knees and carefully pulled the spear out of the man's chest. With shaking hands, he tried to apply a healing miracle, but it was too late: Solaire was already dead, had most likely not even heard his apology. The sun knights body slowly vanished, returning to one of the bonfires the undead always went to after death.

This was it: The ultimate failure Faraam would never forgive him. And poor Solaire would find himself at a bonfire, alone and feeling utterly betrayed, perhaps even going hollow in his grief. And even if he did not go hollow, he would most likely wander off to strange places where they would never find him again. No, that could not happen! He had to find Faraam, they had to get out of here and find Solaire before it was too late! Ornstein started running as fast as he could, bolting down the hallway towards the room.

 

\----

 

Faraam was still standing in the main room of the tomb, feeling very relieved when Ornstein and Solaire finally came running from one of the corridors. But something was off, even if he could not put his finger on it. Playing along, he strolled over to them and kept an eye on his surroundings, casually lifting Gwyndolin's chair and trashing it on the Sarcophagus in an attempt to enrage him and lure him out. “About time the two of you showed up. I thought I told you to stay close”, he scolded. “My deepest apologies, Lord Faraam. I assure you it will not happen again”, Ornstein muttered with a deep bow. “And suddenly I am a Lord again!”, the God called out and raised his arms in a gesture of hopelessness. He looked up to the ceiling and yelled: “Gwyndolin! Did you not hear how brazen and ill-mannered my first knight has become? He doesn't act like _this_ anymore!” He pointed at Ornstein who was looking at him in bewilderment. “Let's see how hardy those illusions of yours really are”, Faraam grinned and lifted his spear. Solaire was shrinking away from him in fear as the God stepped towards them, ready to attack.

“Run, he has gone mad!”, Ornstein shouted at Solaire. The two knights split up and vanished into different corridors, he could not follow both of them. “Ts. What a weak display. You had time to observe us all day, Gwyndolin, and this is the best you can do? How about you make an illusion for once that is actually _convincing_?”, he teased as he ran after Ornstein.

 

\----

 

The lion knight was still running through the corridor, bolting down the hallway like lightning but slowly giving up hope that he would ever reach the end. Faraam had apparently overcome this trick with his wind attacks, but Ornstein had no access to that element. Only lightning. At this rate, he would only waste his strength and exhaust himself before the real battle even began. Panting, he stopped running and supported himself on a wall while trying to catch his breath. But now that his ears were no longer full of air rushing past, he could hear that someone was following him, steps growing louder at a rapid pace. Alarmed, he looked over his shoulder, but felt relieved when he saw that Faraam was running towards him.

That relief turned to ice, however, as soon as he realized that he would now have to explain what had happened to Solaire. Grief-stricken, he fell down on his hands and knees in front of the God. “I am so sorry, Faraam, I have done something awful!”, he called out and barely managed to hold back his tears. “I.... I killed Solaire, believing him to be an illusion!”

 

“Oh, that is just grand”, Faraam laughed, “this one actually looks rather convincing. But Ornstein would never do something this foolish. So try again, Gwyndolin”, he snickered, raising his spear above the knights head. “Wait, Faraam! It really is me!”, Ornstein yelled and tried to dodge the impending strike of the swordspear, but Faraam grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall. The lion knights own spear clattered to the ground as he brought both his hands up to loosen Faraam's chockehold. “Well, there is only one way to find out”, the God smirked, but there was insecurity in his eyes now. “No, please-” the knight gasped as Faraam raised his weapon.

He swiftly delivered a shallow cut to the lion knights leg. Ornstein did not dissolve, instead he started bleeding. Both of them froze. Faraam was staring into Ornstein's eyes now, an expression of growing dead rising up in his stormy eyes. “Is it really- No, the illusion in the cathedral could bleed and take several hits as well-” Faraam began and was about to raise his weapon again, but Ornstein wrapped his legs around the God's waist and pulled him close – reenacting the embarrassing pose from their recent tryst back at the temple grounds. “It really is me! I called you a blasphemous oaf!”, he sobbed with a strangled voice, “And I _really_ killed Solaire! He is dead!” Closing his green eyes in grief, he finally gave up and let his tears run free. “So go ahead and kill me. I deserve it”.

 

Faraam slapped him then, the sound echoing far in the hallway. “Cease this disgusting display of weakness already!”, he growled, “You made a mistake? Then go and correct it! Solaire is undead, he will not have died permanently!” He forcefully unwrapped Ornstein's legs from around his waist and finally released his throat, letting him sink to the ground as the smaller man buried his face in his hands to hide his tears of despair. “And stop acting so depraved in front of the enemy. Pull yourself together!” Faraam bent down to put an arm around his waist to try and pull him to his feet, but Ornstein just hung there like a ragdoll, looking utterly defeated.

“He will be gone by the time we get out of here”, he whispered in a hoarse voice, “I failed him. Just as I failed you. I'm useless, so just end me already.”

 

A mix of a snarl and an exasperated sigh tore it's way out of Faraam's throat, but then he took a deep breath and sat the knight down on the ground, crouching in front of him. He gently took his face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “Listen! I am not mad, alright? Everybody makes mistakes, and it is not too late to fix this one.”

“It might well be too late. My failings are unforgivable”, the knight growled.

“No, they are not. Where is your faith, Ornstein? Gwyndolin is merely my younger brother, we can easily beat him and find Solaire! So don't give up now.” Not waiting for an answer, he kissed Ornstein's forehead and pulled him back to his feet, once again wrapping an arm around his waist. This time, the knight reluctantly held on to him, bracing himself for the charge.

 

And indeed: as soon as they were upright, Faraam charged onward on a strong gust of wind, accelerating until the pillars and moonlit windows which lined the corridor blurred together in an indiscernible mix of dark gray and blue. Ornstein's red ponytail and Faraam's white mane looked like fire as they whipped behind them. “The little wench. Who would have thought he would grow so cunning during my absence? He always looked so frail and feeble, cowering in our Lord Father's shadow”, the God mused. “How will we find a way out? We could fly on like this forever and not get anywhere”, Ornstein asked with a crestfallen expression on his face, but Faraam shook his head.

“The moon only borrows the sun's light, it cannot shine on it's own. And while Gwyndolin can create convincing illusions of things he knows well, there are _some_ things that should be more difficult for him to replicate.” He grinned. “Lightning, for example: the manifested power of sunlight. We are well acquainted with it – what it looks like, how it reacts to it's surroundings – but he has only ever seen it from afar. If we are lucky, the lightning's reaction to the environment might show us the _seams_ of the illusion.” And just like that, Faraam let his swordspear slide over the ground at high speed, producing a terrible screeching noise as sparks flew everywhere. Lightning surged up the walls and covered the floor, creating a pattern of blurry spiderwebs as the two warriors flew past. “There it is, look!”, Faraam suddenly yelled and pointed ahead with his spear, slowing down rapidly. Ornstein could see that the patterns on the wall suddenly looked different in one place, far too uniformly to be natural. The lightning crept up the wall and somehow disappeared beneath it, phasing through the stone and mirroring itself in a way real lightning would never behave in. Faraam took a turn and flew right into the wall – and through it.

 

Suddenly in the tomb's main room again, a shocked Gwyndolin lifted his wand to teleport, but Faraam was faster. He dropped Ornstein, charged right into his younger brother, sent the wand skittering across the floor and pinned Gwyndolin under his own, much larger body. “Oh Gwyndolin. How did you ever expect to beat me? Your little game is finally over and I will make sure you never get to play it again!”, he growled. “Then slay thine own kin, traitor!”, Gwyndolin spat with a shrill voice, his snake legs biting his older brother, but he didn't even seem to notice. He clearly had not expected this to happen.

“Oh no, I will not grant you the mercy of death. I will simply make sure you pose no threat anymore”, Faraam chuckled darkly as he finally got up. Lifting Gwyndolin by his throat, he raised his other hand and pressed it to his younger brothers chest, unleashing a powerful discharge of lightning.

Gwyndolin seemed to realize Faraam's intent, started to struggle heavily and screamed for him to stop, but his pleas were ignored. “By the power of the sun that is my birthright, I hereby take from you the shard of the Lord Soul our Lord Father bestowed unto you! Never again will you deceive my warriors, or _anyone_ else!”, Faraam roared as blood started to trickle down the fine lace dress and Gwyndolin finally stopped struggling, his arms and snakes hanging limp in the air.

 

_I didn't think this was possible! Where did he learn to do this?_ , Ornstein thought, watching in awe as Faraam drained Gwyndolin's power. When he was finished, he carelessly tossed the frail body aside, leaving him shivering and sickly on the tomb's floor. “Come, Ornstein. Our work here is done. He will never cast a spell again”, he growled and turned to leave, marching down the corridor that now looked perfectly normal again. Ornstein hurried to follow, looking at Faraam with wide eyes. “What- How did you do this? I thought it was impossible to steal souls from the living!”, he exclaimed in disbelief. “I cannot drain just _any_ soul, Ornstein. In this particular case it worked because it was a shard of my Lord Father's soul. As you certainly know, Lord Gwyn used to be the only one who could give and take shards of this very soul as he pleased, but now he is reduced to cinder. Dead to the world. Which means that by birthright, I inherited this power as well as the sunlight. I am the Lord of sunlight now.”

Ornstein watched him, slack jawed and lost for words. Of course, it all made sense! “But now, let us search the city for bonfires”, the God suggested whilst ascending the long, spiraling stairs that led away from the tomb. “If Solaire is still around, he might be in the general vicinity of a bonfire.” The elevated mood that had befallen Ornstein as he had watched Faraam's incredible display of power quickly gave way to dread – Solaire was still out there and time was running out. “Let us split up”, he suggested.

 

They searched the moonlit city, now unhindered by illusionary guards: The cathedral, the smaller churches, the rooftops and streets and walls and houses. Of course, it was impossible to search the whole city, so they stuck to the vicinity of the cathedral and the larger buildings – places an undead like Solaire might be interested in. Sometimes, Ornstein had the suspicion of being watched, as if the very shadows of the city were following him, waiting for an opportunity to attack. He recalled the order of the Darkmoon Blades which had been a secret little project of Gwyndolin's. But he didn't know if there were any members left, it had always been a rather small covenant.

After probably searching all night – he couldn't tell for sure, for the sun would most likely never rise again in Anor Londo – he finally returned to the meeting point, desperately hoping that Faraam had found Solaire in the meantime. But when he rounded a corner and entered the cathedral, Faraam was waiting all alone. He looked equally disappointed when he saw a lone Ornstein arrive. “So he's gone”, the God sighed and looked up to the high vaults. Ornstein felt incredibly guilty again. “Yes, I was unable to find him anywhere. No signs of life... but still, I had the impression that _someone_ was watching my every step”, he mumbled.

 

“Probably Darkmoon Blades”, Faraam shrugged. Ornstein gave him a puzzled look. “How do you know about the Darkmoon Blades? They were founded long after you left for exile”, he wondered. “Well, I happened to stumble upon a Knight who informed me about them just a few hours ago”, the God winced, “to be more specific: She was _part_ of them, and she _informed_ me while attacking me in a desperate attempt to avenge Gwyndolin and wrest his soul from me.”

 

_Oh._ “What did you do to her?”, the knight asked, already knowing the answer. “I killed her. After all, it is high treason to attack your king like that”, he grinned. Seeing Ornstein's crestfallen face, he went over and ruffled his hair. “Now come on, there is no need to be upset. Solaire is very skilled, I am sure he is doing just fine. We will find him someday and then you will get your chance to apologize.” Ornstein pouted at him. “You are surprisingly relaxed. Usually, if one so much as _sneezes_ in the general direction of your warriors, you go berserk. Last time, you beat me up just for _defaming_ them, but now I actually _killed_ one of them. I would have thought-”

“No no no. We are not having this conversation. What you did was certainly foolish, but it was an accident and you are not to blame for it, as there was no ill intent behind your actions. And I am sure Solaire will understand if we explain it to him. But now let us return home, I do not wish to remain in this wretched city any longer”, Faraam proclaimed, then added with a wink: “after all, I am officially exiled.”

 

“How can we return, anyway?”, Ornstein wondered. “The serpent summoners gave me a bell”, Faraam explained and started to search his pockets, “When I ring it, we will be teleported back to the temple. Don't ask how it works, I have no idea.” Finally, he produced a small, black metal bell from one of his pockets. “Found it! Hold on to my hand, lest you get left behind”, he warned and the knight quickly took his hand. “Alright then, let's go home. I can't wait to wash off all this grime. Let's take a nice bath...”, he winked at him in a way that was highly suggestive and caused a blush and a defiant pout to appear on the knight's face. Then, Faraam held out the bell and rang it, creating a clear, high pitched sound that rang brightly in the dark cathedral.

But nothing happened. “...are you sure this is the right bell?”, Ornstein asked carefully. Faraam regarded the bell with a frown. “Perhaps I have to ring it louder”, he guessed and proceeded to shake the bell in a brutal fashion that soon filled the whole cathedral with the shrill sound. Finally, something happened, but not in the way they had anticipated: Several summoning circles started to appear all around them, growing bigger and bigger until blueish, dark shadows began to emerge from them.

“Is this... _supposed_ to happen?”, Ornstein asked incredulously as he watched the small army of shadows take shape.

 

“No, this is not supposed to happen at all. Something is very wrong here”, Faraam growled and drew his spear. Then, he bellowed: “Darkmoon Blades! You have seen what I have done to your leader and fellow knightess! There is no way you can beat me, so retreat while you still can, or I will slaughter every single one of you!” One had to give credit to the Darkmoon Blades: Many others would have fled at the mere sight of the God, but they showed absolutely no fear. A particularly bold knight stepped forth, her voice full of restrained fury: “You will pay for what you have done to Master Gwyndolin, and to our sister! Your sins will not go unpunished!” With a battlecry that reverberated like thunder in the cathedral, the Blades of the Darkmoon attacked in a vicious onslaught that would have instantly overwhelmed lesser men.

_What a waste it will be to kill them, they are truly brave_ , Ornstein thought as the heat of the battle engulfed them. Once again, the God and his first knight relied on their speed to evade the attacks, outspeeding the smaller humans and surging through the hall like bolts of lightning. The Blades were not that easily defeated, though. They rallied, covered each others backs and simply rolled under the stabs and swipes of the lightning spears, dodging almost all of them. A loud bang filled the hall as the entrance gate fell shut, effectively preventing the combatants from leaving the cathedral. Faraam jumped into his field of view and gave him a sign to retreat to the main hall then. It was easier said than done, for the Blades tried everything in their might to keep Ornstein locked in the entrance hall, preventing him from following Faraam. They shot arrows and spells from the balustrade and formed shield walls to block the door.

 

Ornstein decided to simply barge through them, but quickly realized that he had underestimated them. Arrows dug into his flesh, spells burned him and he even caught a nasty swipe of a Zweihänder to his left arm, forcing him to onehand his spear with the right one. There were so many of them, swarming like ants, retreating like ebb whenever he struck at them, crashing in like the incoming tide whenever he turned his back. This was so much worse than he had anticipated. _This is how Smough must have felt,_ he thought and finally managed to follow Faraam, breaking through the blockade and joining him in the main hall where Smough's body was still lying on the shattered floor.

His world started to spin when he saw Faraam: The God had almost been overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of Darkmoon Blades that had managed to slow him down with chain bolas. He disappeared under a small mountain of human warriors, only to rear up and shake them off as a bear would do with a pack of attacking wolves. Ornstein jumped onto the balcony and killed several bola throwers in a surprise attack, taking some of the heat off his friend. A bright explosion of light briefly forced him to close his eyes as Faraam brought down his spear and applied high voltage to the ground in a desperate attempt to shake off his attackers. When he opened his eyes again, about a third of the Blades had dropped like cattle, many of them convulsing and dying on the floor. The rest of them had apparently prepared themselves and brought armor that appeared to be somewhat resistant to lightning. The dead Warrior's were quickly substituted with new ones who kept being summoned in the entrance hall, steadily streaming through the door to replace their fallen comrades. They used the elevators to get the higher ground, throwing more bolas and spells down into the hall. The covenant was obviously _much_ bigger than Ornstein had believed.

 

Faraam was crouching on the floor, gasping for air; he had clearly exhausted himself in his last attack and was bleeding heavily, but the Blades were already closing in again. His power would soon run out. Cursing, Ornstein leaped down into the hall and made a mad dash for Smough's corpse. He took a few hits here and there, but still managed to impale the huge corpse on his spear, spinning on his heel and hurling Smough into the gear mechanism beneath the right elevator. His injured arm hurt like hell, but he ignored it. The gears immediately stopped moving as Smough's huge body with it's heavy armor came crashing in, an ugly creaking noise began to fill the hall until the elevator finally grew silent and stopped working at all. Faraam had watched him, understanding his plan without words. The God jumped high into the air, evading the lances, spells and arrows that were being thrown at him, and ran though the hall in zig zag lines.

His swordspear started picking up the fallen soldiers, impaling them in rows, body to body, until his weapon looked like a fruit skewer. Once, he almost slipped and fell, but regained his balance not a moment too soon. A halberd crashed into the floor where Faraam's neck had been only half a second ago. Ornstein tried to get the attention of the warriors, trying to distract them, but they had already seen through it and started to defend the remaining elevator with everything they had. Ornstein picked up a discarded greatshield whose owner had died and charged the group that stood in front of the elevator without thinking twice. As soon as the elevator has reached the top, he leaned against his shield and pushed the knights back with all his might, inch by inch. Suddenly Faraam crashed into his back, hurled his own, skewered corpses into the gears and provided the final shove that sent the defending Warrior's flying backwards, falling into the gears as well and getting squashed.

 

Had they not worn any armor, the elevator would probably just have shredded them to pieces, but all that metal was not so simply destroyed. It bent, bunched up and got caught in the gears until they could turn no more. The second elevator stopped. With one last, desperate charge Faraam and Ornstein jumped onto the balcony that was now unreachable for the humans, using all of their remaining strength to kill the remaining Blades on it or throw them down into the hall. After what felt like years, the balcony was finally cleared. The Darkmoon Blades were furious, now focusing on long range attacks to somehow hit the enemies that were now out of their reach, but the God and his knight retreated into the now empty chamber of Gwynivere, shutting the heavy door behind them and bracing it with the tower shield Ornstein had brought.

Faraam slid down the wall and remained on the ground for a while, just breathing and trying not to fall unconscious. His injuries were far worse than Ornstein's, as he had been the main target in this fight. While Ornstein's left arm was probably broken or at least sprained and he had some very painful spell burns and arrow wounds, he had not lost a lot of blood and was still able to stand upright. Faraam looked like a total mess, though: The puddle of blood beneath him grew larger by the second, there were so many bruises, cuts and slashes on his body that his original skin color could barely be seen beneath the blood and his armor was torn and battered. Several arrows were sticking out of him to all sides. In their over-confidence, they had disposed of their helmets when entering Gwyn's tomb, so their heads had been pretty much unprotected in this fight. They had been very lucky to only sustain minor injury to the head.

 

Ornstein sat down on the floor and pulled Faraam's head into his lap, letting his hands roam over his battered body and performing a healing miracle. “Stay with me, Faraam”, he whispered with a bleak voice, “I will heal your wounds until you can walk, and then we will get out of here. I promise. Just... please don't die.” A weak snicker shook the God's chest. “I am so sorry, Ornstein”, he rasped, “for letting you down like this. I made some really … bad decisions in this fight. I must be getting old...” His eyes slowly fell shut. “Shh, don't speak. You did just fine, we were just hopelessly outnumbered”, the knight mumbled bitterly.

Seeing Faraam like this destroyed him, it broke his very heart. Even though they were equals now, no longer master and servant; to him, Faraam had still been unstoppable, invincible and larger than life. A legend that could never be defeated, that could easily carry the weight of the universe on his shoulders while telling dirty jokes and juggling skulls and teapots at the same time. A force of nature living in the guise of a man.

And now, _his_ Faraam had been defeated, almost killed even, by a horde of mere human knights the God should have been able to slay by the thousands without even sustaining a single scratch to his armor. It just didn't make sense, and it wasn't fair. Healing the God with his good hand, he carefully rested his sprained hand on Faraam's head and gently stroked his hair.

 

He remembered the dispute they had had a while ago, back when Faraam had accused Ornstein of only loving him for his power. He could see the silent question in the God's eyes as they finally opened again, looking up at him. The sadness and the uncertainty.“I love you, Faraam”, Ornstein assured him in a whisper, “and I am proud of you, no matter if you win or lose. All that matters to me is that you are alive, that we can be together.” He smiled at his next thought. “I didn't think that I would ever say this, but... let's just run. I don't care for honor anymore, I don't care if we are cowards if we flee this battle. This is not worth dying for...nothing could _ever_ be worth your death.”

“You sure have grown sappy”, Faraam laughed weakly, but his eyes were wet and shiny with unshed tears. Ornstein bent down and kissed his forehead.

Suddenly, quick footsteps could be heard outside of the chamber, rapidly growing louder. Then, several people were hitting against the door, striking it with weapons and trying to get in. “They have finally managed to climb the balcony”, Faraam sighed and held out the small, black bell to the knight. “Run, Ornstein, you can still make it. Destroy the window and save yourself. Please don't make me watch you die.”

“Selfish bastard! And _I_ am supposed to let _you_ die? You're coming with me!”, the knight hissed as he staggered to his feet. He grabbed Faraam's arm and placed it over his shoulders, supporting the taller man and dragging him towards the window. With the other hand, he carried their spears, using them to shatter the window at the end of the princess' chamber. Faraam tried to support as much of his own weight as he could, but his injuries were still grave. The broken window revealed a mind numbing drop to the next roof below. The door was being kicked in.

 

“Hold on! Don't you _dare_ let go of me!”, Ornstein shouted as he shifted Faraam's weight to his back and jumped, barely dodging the myriad of spells and arrows that now came flying towards them. They fell for quite some time and Ornstein was not sure if he could safely land with this much taller and heavier man on his back, but shortly before his feet hit the roof, Faraam released a gust of wind that softened the fall. Ornstein could feel a rush of warm, fresh blood seep into his back. “Stop it, Faraam! You are killing yourself, just let me handle this for once!”, the knight scolded and ran across the roof. “We have to get to the city wall”, Faraam wheezed, “then I will try to use the bell again. I suspect it didn't work because the Darkmoon Blades somehow managed to block teleportation in the cathedral's vicinity. Perhaps even in the whole city, if we are unlucky.” Ornstein's legs almost buckled under the weight, but he ground his teeth and concentrated every ounce of strength that was left in his body. He could not let Faraam die, he would destroy himself first.

The way to the city wall was pretty straight forward, but they were being chased all the way. They descended from the roofs, rounded the cathedral, crossed the main plaza, passed Gwyndolin's staircase, took the huge elevator - “Oh no! The elevator doesn't move! They turned it off”, Ornstein groaned and frantically turned his head to find an alternate route. But it would be difficult to get up to the city walls without it, all of the other buildings were much lower and he couldn't jump so high with Faraam on his back. “I will fly us up there. One last exertion will not kill me”, Faraam breathed. Ornstein wanted to protest, but the Darkmoon Blades were closing in at a dangerous pace. “If you die, I will never forgive you”, he growled, but braced himself for the takeoff nonetheless.

Faraam catapulted them high into the air, even higher than it would have been necessary, leaving their pursuers behind for good. Faraam groaned in pain, but seemed fine otherwise. Ornstein bounded up the stairs and finally ascended the wall, the stiff breeze almost making him lose his balance. Below them, glimpses of Gwynsen's fortress could be caught between the dark trees that shrouded the world below in a homogeneous murkiness. A brief flashback caught up with the knight, illuminating the dark scenery one last time as they watched the recruits toil away in the fortress under a golden sun, dodging swinging blades and braving incredible dangers. Then, it all grew dark again.

“Jump, Ornstein”, Faraam whispered, and Ornstein _jumped_.

It felt heavenly to finally have all that weight taken off of his legs, just letting gravity take over as they went spiraling down into the darkness beneath Anor Londo. A clear bell rang in the midst of rushing air and falling darkness, engulfing them in the pleasantly warm, golden glow that had brought them here in the first place. Their surroundings shifted once again as the world began to fade away like a lingering nightmare, seeming more and more unreal in the face of the bright, redeeming sunrise.

They landed heavily on the dusty stone floor in front of the mausoleum, now too weak and exhausted to break their fall in any way. Ornstein hit his head and watched dizzily as serpents came running, calling for healers. Then finally, his exhaustion caught up with him and he fell unconscious.

 

 

 

When he woke again, he was lying on a literal mountain of sheets and furs in the comfortable shade of Faraam's quarters. Outside, the bright afternoon sun was shining warmly, but it looked a little dimmer than usual. Reality sank in. Ornstein shot to his feet and instantly regretted it. “Ouch”, he cursed, carefully sitting down again. Every bone and muscle in his body hurt, and not in a good way like it usually did after a fight. A warm chuckle made him wheel around, coming face to face with Faraam who was sitting next to him. “Don't scare me like this”, he hissed, “I thought you were dead.”

“I am very much alive, thanks to you”, the God smiled, “you were absolutely incredible.”

When Ornstein turned his head away with a sigh, Faraam's smile fell as he said: ”But that probably doesn't mean a lot anymore, coming from me.”

“No, not at all! That is not it”, the knight assured him, “I just... I don't understand what _happened_ back there. It should have been an easy fight for us, right?”, he asked, his green eyes dimming with uncertainty.

 

“I mean, you defeated Gwyndolin, a _God_ nonetheless, without much of an effort, but these puny humans almost got the best of us! I cannot _understand_ it! We used to slay _dragons_! ”, Ornstein shouted in frustration and buried his hands in his red hair.

Faraam wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into his lap with a sad smile, letting his gaze grow distant and roam the vast planes of his memory. “The future belongs to _them_ , you know”, he whispered into the knights hair, “We can try as we might to prolong our age, but in the end, we are relics of the past. As the flame fades, so does my power, and yours as well. Any God's, really. I have.... refused to believe it for a long time, but now I can feel it too.”

“Then why not prolong the age of fire? Why did you oppose Gwyndolin's plan? Lord Gwyn's plan?”, Ornstein exclaimed, sounding desperate now.

“Because it _cannot_ be prolonged, it is not _meant_ to last forever. I don't know if you are aware of this, as only a small number of people were privy, but Lord Gwyn sacrificed many others before finally deciding to link the fire himself. It had already begun before I had been exiled. He started with burning human sacrifices – criminals and other undesirables – finding humanity to be a suitable fuel. But each time, he had to sacrifice more of them to achieve the same results”, he sighed, “Soon, he would have had to burn whole kingdoms, so he started to fuel the fire with some of his more powerful knights.”

 

Ornstein's face grew pale. “So... that is why so many of them vanished all of a sudden? I- I thought the abyss-”

“The abyss was certainly a problem as well, but many of these so called _expeditions_ into the abyss were never meant to reach it. Instead, they were lead to the kiln. The knights knew what awaited them, but the _abyss expedition_ was the official explanation to the public.”

“Artorias as well?”, Ornstein whispered with wide eyes, but Faraam shook his head.

“No, Artorias really went into the Abyss. Lord Gwyn did not wish to burn his four knights, since you were well known heroes and your sudden absence would have roused suspicion. After all, no ruler wishes to openly admit that his power is fading. It was to be kept secret.”

“This is terrible”, Ornstein breathed, “I didn't know...”

 

“My point is”, Faraam explained, “that we can sacrifice every single person in this world, and yet, each new sacrifice will need exponentially more fuel. This is why my Lord Father's plan is _pointless_. So many sacrifices, so much suffering, and all of it for just a few more years of sunshine? Do you understand now why I was so angry when I found out that Gwyndolin held on to this madness?” Ornstein lowered his gaze, tears of despair glistening in his eyes.

“No”, the God continued, “our recent defeat is proof enough that it is time for us to step aside and make way for the next generation of warriors. The warriors of my covenant are strong, they support each other and are well prepared for the coming age – _their_ age. Now now, don't cry, Ornstein”, he whispered as the knight silently sobbed into the God's chest. “But it's not fair! We _built_ this world, we sacrificed so much to win it from the dragons and build all of this! Why do we have to give it up? Why can't it just go on like this forever?”, he sniveled, feeling as if the pain of thousands of years was crashing down on him.

 

But Faraam just smiled his simple, melancholic smile that told him that the world was an awful place but in the end, they would be fine. “I felt the same way a long time ago, but the dragons taught me not to fear the fading of the flame. They found themselves in our very situation when the age of fire began. They, too, found it difficult to adapt at first, but in the end, they managed. The world keeps changing, that is just how things are. An unchanging world is a _dead_ world, the change is natural, _necessary_ even. We are only bothered by it because we have been leading unnaturally long lives, Ornstein.” He soothingly combed his fingers through the red hair.

“I want us to live forever”, the knight grumbled, making Faraam laugh. “But every warrior dies someday”, Faraam winked at him, “even legends like you and I. I believe this fight was an important lesson for the both of us, don't you think?”

“So that means our days on the battlefield are numbered?”, Ornstein grouched, embarrassed of his tears. Faraam looked up at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. He reclined on his makeshift bed, gently pulling Ornstein down with him and letting the knight rest his head on his chest. “I believe”, he finally said, “that there is not much we can do for our warriors anymore. Of course we will still try and find Solaire, tie up any loose ends we left in the world. We cannot just leave him like this, after all. But someday, probably very soon, we should stop meddling with things that no longer concern us.”

That had been a lot to take in. Ornstein had expected Faraam to throw a tantrum and plot revenge against the Darkmoon Blades, not to calmly hold a speech about the meaning of life. He found it difficult to accept that Faraam and him were no longer needed, they had been legends after all. Every little child had known them, had wanted to be like them. And now they were simply obsolete?

 

“Faraam, I... I find it hard to imagine that we would just sit here and do nothing. Don't you miss the battles? The war?”, he asked.

“Of course I miss it, I used to be the God of war after all”, Faraam sighed, “but it seems there are no wars left in the world, anyway. The tiny group of warriors that we helped fight the abyss creature was probably the biggest _army_ left in this day and age. Even if we let ourselves be summoned again, it will always be to small fights like the one with Solaire, and because of our fading powers we will make less and less of a difference. Don't think that it doesn't hurt me. When I realized where all of this was going, I was so mad I did not know what to do with my rage. But now, it doesn't seem all that terrifying anymore.”

 

“But why? How can you be so calm in the face of this disaster?”, Ornstein asked impatiently. “I don't understand you. Back in the day, you would get so addicted to fighting that it was very hard to approach you when you had been stuck in the castle for a few days. You were so moody and impatient, you even destroyed furniture _several times_ just to get rid of your pent up energy. How does the prospect of not going to war _ever again_ not frighten you now?”

Faraam laughed and playfully slapped his butt, causing the knight to grumble. “You sure remember all of my misdeeds, even if they happened thousands of years ago, hm?”, he snickered. “Well, if I ever happen to believe myself a good person, I will make sure to have you remind me of them.” When he saw that Ornstein didn't join in his laughter, he became more serious again. “Alright then. Do you want to hear the truth?” Ornstein looked at him out of hooded green eyes and nodded. Faraam looked slightly embarrassed.

“If you laugh, I will throw you off of the platform”, he warned.

“How bad could it possibly be?”, Ornstein sighed.

“There was a moment that _changed_ me, Ornstein”, he began, “A moment that showed me that there is so much more to life than fighting. Do you remember, when we were sitting in the princess' chamber and I was badly injured?”

 

The knight looked at him incredulously. “Of course I remember. It was only _yesterday_ ”, he said. “Oh by the sun, this is embarrassing”, Faraam winced, “how can I explain this without losing the last bit of respect you have for me? … Argh. I cannot do it.” Ornstein began to slide his hands beneath Faraam's tunic, gently stroking his sides. “You can tell me anything, you know. I have seen everything already and I am still here”, he half smiled.

“..you are probably right”, the God mumbled, starting to blush a little. “So, when I was lying there, I thought I would die. I _wanted_ to die, believing myself to be a failure, a man that had passed his zenith and overstayed his welcome in this world. I... I was ashamed of my weakness”, he admitted, turning his head to the side. “I thought that you would be terribly disappointed in me, because I had been beaten by humans. I had not lived up to the amazement I always used to see in your eyes when you watched me fight.” When Ornstein blushed and wanted to object, he quickly raised his hand to stop him.

 

“Yes Ornstein, I noticed that, and I was so proud of it. But then you told me that it didn't matter, that you still love me even if I fail. And... that just _did_ something to me. I realized that my entire self worth had been chained to my prowess in battle, to my _success_. I was so _sure_ that you wouldn't love me anymore if I could not live up to your expectations. But in this very moment when I was at my weakest and close to death, you still didn't give up on me. You risked your own life to carry a no good, deadweight ex god to the edge of the city. You jumped at my command and trusted my ability to ring the bell at the right time, even though I – and the bell – had failed terribly mere moments before. In spite of it all, you still had faith in me. I don't deserve you.” With a start, Ornstein realized that Faraam was crying.

 

“Oh no, Faraam, please don't cry”, he whispered and brought his hands up to wipe away the tears. The times the God had cried could be counted on the fingers of one hand, and it was difficult to watch. “I meant what I said, I love you no matter what. As you said: Everyone makes mistakes, everyone fails sometimes. Let's not dwell on that any longer, alright?”

Faraam nodded, pulling him close like a stuffed animal. “Thank you”, he whispered.

After this long and deep conversation, they lay there in silence, simply enjoying each others company and the warm summer breeze that came in through the windows. Ornstein was gently raised and lowered by the calm, even breathing of the God, indescribably glad to hear his breath and heartbeat. He was alive, they both were.

 

“Now I understand why you want to become a dragon”, he suddenly realized. Faraam opened an eye to look at him, signaling that he was listening. “If there is no place for us the way we are, we can simply change, right? We could become dragons and just leave, adapt to the world”, the knight mused.

Faraam smiled warmly. “To be honest, adapting to the world is not my motivation. If we wanted to adapt to the coming age, we should try to become human”, he laughed. Ornstein grimaced. “Path of the human. That sounds asinine. What pose would one meditate in to become human anyway? In Arch-human peak? With human stones”, the knight teased.

The playful glint had returned to Faraam's eyes as he thought about it. “Arch-human peak, we should call it that. The pose... well, humans are usually on their knees for one reason or another. So I would advise the prospective acolyte” he winked at Ornstein and nudged his side “to assume a begging position. He shall attempt to look as pitiful as he might, preferably with his arse in the air-” Ornstein punched him in the side and laughed. “I see you are perfectly healthy again. As long as there are perverse and terrible jokes to tell, your age will never end, will it.” But then he grew more somber, looking through the windows and up to the sky, imagining himself and Faraam as dragons.

 

“But I feel it now”, he mumbled, “this... _pulling_. As if something was calling me. As if there was a dragon calling in the depths of my heart. Do you feel it too?”

Faraam gave him a knowing grin and nodded. “I do.”

“Now I really _want_ to turn into a dragon”, Ornstein continued, “not only to follow you, but to _be_ a dragon. So we can finally be free and fly away from this doomed world, as far as we can. With Praan and all the others”, he thought aloud. It was a beautiful thought. Since the very first time he had rode on Praan's back, he had never forgotten how free he had felt, how _unburdened_ by all the darkness and despair that was slowly turning the world beneath them into a living hell. They had to hurry to find Solaire and tie up the loose ends, as Faraam had put it. He suddenly found that he could not wait anymore.

Faraam kissed the top of his head. “Then I believe it is time, soon”, he hummed.

“Yes”, Ornstein whispered, “soon.”


	11. Idk yet

It had taken them almost three weeks to recover from the attack of the Darkmoon Blades. The healers among the serpents had been skilled enough to save Faraam from the brink of death, but they were a far cry from the healers of Anor Londo, whose miracles had often even been able to prevent scarring. Faraam, like most warriors, had never minded his scars, instead wearing them with pride and remembering almost every story behind them. He jokingly called them his _battle diary_. Ornstein, on the other hand, had always been a little vain and was not terribly fond of his scars, even though they were an inevitable part of being a knight and covered most of his body. He had begrudgingly accepted them, but had always tried to keep facial scars down to a minimum, somewhat successful.

The scars on his face had all been caused by non-combat incidents: The three that ran across the bridge of his nose he had acquired by falling down the stairs after a drinking bout with his comrades when he had first become a silver knight. He had been too drunk to notice his injuries; instead he had dragged himself off to bed and woken up with a face and pillow covered in blood. The wound had been too old by then to prevent scarring, but after this incident he had accepted his fate as a lightweight drinker and had been more careful. The crisscrossing scar on his right cheek was even older, dating back to his years as a squire when he had been kicked in the face by a mule. Both stories were rather embarrassing, but he had not been able to prevent the other knights from finding out about them and telling them to _every new recruit_ behind his back.

 

Ornstein sighed as he regarded himself in the small mirror he had found in the mausoleum – a small, dull thing with several cracks that had most likely been used by one ambitious acolyte to monitor his transformation. The knight had grown used to his old scars, faded and barely visible as they had been. But now, after he had been fighting a cathedral full of Darkmoon Blades without wearing a helmet, things looked quite different: There was a big, red scar crossing his lips and right cheek, another one marked the spot where he had almost lost his left eye and several smaller ones were scattered elsewhere.

His face was a mess, but his hair looked even worse: The tip of his ponytail had been singed by some blasted pyromancer and there was a nasty spellburn on the back of his head, thankfully rather low, about the height of his ear. But the spell had burned all of his hair away in this spot. In the three weeks that had passed since the fight, the hair had _thankfully_ started to grow back, but it still looked awful because it was now shorter than the rest. Ornstein had always been fond of his hair and was rather displeased to see it in it's current state. He wondered how Faraam had been able to escape with his ridiculously huge mane intact, but then again the God's hair was thick and wiry like the mane of a horse.

 

He sighed again, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees. It couldn't be helped, he would have to cut his hair now. But cutting one's hair could easily go wrong and he had always had it done by servants and therefore little practice with doing it by himself, so he got up, placed the mirror on the table and went to find Faraam. He finally found him sitting on the southern tower, engaged in animated conversation with three dragons. There was a small teapot in front of Faraam, and a large kettle – no doubt filled with tea as well – in front of each dragon. _A dragon teaparty_. “Ornstein! I thought you wanted some time to yourself, what's the matter?”, Faraam asked when he spotted him. The knight sat next to him and greeted the dragons who in turn nodded at him. “It's nothing urgent”, he mumbled, “I was just wondering if you could help me cut my hair later.”

Faraam's smile morphed into a frown. “Your hair? But why would you cut it? You know that I _love_ your hair”, he protested. “Well, Faraam, it got damaged in our recent fight and looks awful now”, he grumbled, earning curious looks from the dragons. They probably couldn't understand the importance of a decent haircut. “It is my hair and therefore my decision. I do not wish to look like some bedraggled vagrant.” Faraam grimaced and pretended to be in incredible pain, but answered: “Argh.... Fine then. But I will not cut it _too_ short, that wouldn't look good on you, trust me. Let us finish our tea – you may stay and have some, of course – and then we can take care of your hair.”

 

Ornstein gladly accepted the invitation for tea and listened with mild interest as the dragons shared the results of their newest intelligence gathering trip. He had spent very little time with them lately and found that he missed Praan quite terribly. After the whole disaster in Anor Londo, he had been looking forward to spend some time with Praan, as it always helped him to take his mind off his troubles. But the young dragon had been gone for almost two weeks now, claiming to have found something he wanted to investigate in a place called _ashen lake_. Ornstein had almost asked Praan if he could accompany him, but Faraam had still been gravely injured and bedridden at the time. He had needed his knight by his side. “Lost in thought again?”, Faraam's amused voice and a nudge of his elbow brought him back into reality again. Ornstein noticed that he had been drifting off and therefore failed to follow the conversation. “I apologize”, he muttered and shook his head to chase away the remnants of his daydreams.

“We will take our leave. Thank you for the tea”, one of the Dragons boomed as they nodded their farewell and stepped to the edge of the tower. They spread their huge wings and took flight, rounding the temple a few times before diving beneath the clouds. “I hope I did not insult them by not listening, they sounded rather curt in their farewell”, Ornstein frowned. “It is not because of you”, Faraam assured him, “Had you listened, you would know that they are tense because a new age is about to begin. After all, nobody truly knows _what_ will happen exactly, now that the natural course of things has been disrupted for so long by the linking of the fire. But now, on to more important things: Your hair”.

Ornstein laughed. “So my hair is more important than the ending of our age?”, he asked, earning a grin and a nod from Faraam. “Your hair is like a _flame_ that somehow became solid. It is so soft and always so vibrantly red, no matter how dull or gloomy your surroundings … it is actually the reason why my favorite color is red”, he winked. “Stop it, you sappy old man”, the knight groaned, but he was secretly happy about every nice thing Faraam said about him, even if it was just foolish nonsense. “I am not exaggerating. How would you feel if I suddenly decided to cut _my_ hair?”, the God asked as they collected the remnants of the tea party, stacking the kettles and teapots to carry them down to their makeshift kitchen.

“I think I prefer it the way it is”, Ornstein shrugged, “it is hard to imagine you without that giant mop on your head.” Ornstein had never seen Faraam with short hair. When they had gotten to know each other, the God's hair had just barely reached his shoulders, although he had always worn it in braids or with a headband back in the day. Since then, it had grown much longer.

“So we can agree on a hair truce, then?”, Faraam asked hopefully, but Ornstein shook his head. “I will have to do _something_ about it. The singed ends have to be cut off at least.” After they had cleaned the tea pots, they went to Faraam's quarters where Ornstein sat down next to the table. Faraam searched the drawers of the terribly battered ruin of a cupboard he kept his belongings in, returning to the knight with the blades he usually used to shave his beard, as well as a pair of shears.

 

“I never took you for a shepherd”, Ornstein jested, amazed that the God had such a rustic item in his possession.

“I use it for trimming my own hair once in a decade”, Faraam explained, “since I forgot to bring some fancy scissors with me when I was exiled. This was the closest thing I could find in this wilderness.” He sat down behind the knight, combing his hands through the red locks. “Oh, now I can see what you mean. I will just start out with the singed ends, alright?”

Ornstein had immediately relaxed when Faraam had begun to touch his hair, his eyelids growing heavier by the second. He had never told anyone about this weakness of his, but Faraam had found out of course. The God had once joked that if an enemy were to pin Ornstein down and started to pet his hair, he would fall asleep mid-fight. He had to stifle a yawn, blushing slightly in embarrassment of his body's reaction.

“This will hurt me a lot”, Faraam declared as he finally brushed the hair straight and started to cut off the singed ends. Ornstein willed himself to remain in a straight position, even though the _snip_ sounds of the scissors only worsened his condition, making him feel tired beyond measure. “Hm...to get them all to the same length, I would have to cut them fairly short. I think I have a better idea.”

 

“Go ahead”, Ornstein yawned, earning a chuckle. “Alright. I hope you will like it. If not, you have my permission to butcher my hair as well”, the God snickered. Ornstein could feel his hair being lifted and pushed to one side. Then, the shears were cutting it right above the skin. “Now that is the shortest you could cut it”, Ornstein mumbled, confused. “I'm leaving the hair on top of your head long, since it barely got damaged at all. But the parts that border on your neck and right ear are almost singed to the skin, so I will cut it very short on the back and sides.”

When Faraam was finally done, he brushed his fingers through the hair once again, snickering when Ornstein began to slightly sway from side to side. “Don't fall asleep now. You have to tell me if you like it, first.” He got up and grabbed one of the round metal shields that lay in a pile of weapons at the far side of the room. He spit on it and roughly polished it with the tattered sleeve of his tunic, walking over to the knight again and holding the shield in front of him like a mirror.

The reflection was clear enough for Ornstein to take a good look at his new hairstyle: It was basically an undercut; the hair on the sides and back of the head was cut short, but the rest was still long enough to reach past his shoulder blades. Faraam had tied it in a neat ponytail at the crown of his head. Ornstein found that he liked it, at least it looked much better than the burned mess it had been before. “You should be the God of hairdressing”, he teased, amazed that Faraam was so skilled at this. “You cannot tell me you haven't done this before”.

“Actually, I have. But my Lord Father thought it to be unseemly for a man, a God of war nonetheless, to engage in such activities. But then again, he caught me red handed as I engaged in even _worse_ activities with a warrior of mine whose hair I had just cut, so that _might_ have played a role!”, he burst out laughing, bringing his fist down on the table and sending his blades flying. “You really had affairs with your soldiers?”, Ornstein asked incredulously, “I thought that was just some nasty rumor.”

 

“Nasty? Perhaps. Rumor? Most certainly not. But by the time I met _you_ , I had already stopped doing this on a regular basis”, the God said, wiping away his tears of laughter and becoming more serious. “Not because of my Lord Father's disapproval of course, but because I had the impression that it was harmful to my soldiers – the same reason why I did not make any advances to you.” Faraam smiled as his gaze grew hazy and looked through Ornstein, through the walls and the sky, back onto Anor Londo in their golden age. “You see... at first I thought there to be nothing wrong with it and it was a lot of fun, but after some time, I am afraid I broke quite a few of their hearts. It caused jealousy among them, and worse: Some of them were not even attracted to me or to men in general, they indulged me because they thought it to be their duty to fulfill my every wish. Even if I just _asked_ , to them it was an order. I was not only their commander, I was their _God_ and t he power imbalance could not have been greater. This is why I so desperately wanted you to be my equal”, Faraam explained as he scooped up the red hair that was scattered on the ground. He threw it in the air and smiled as the red locks fell like snow. “A shame to throw this away, really.”

 

“That makes sense”, Ornstein mused. “but those rumors were still going around by the time I was knight captain. But wait – do I get to cut your hair now?”

“No. I said you can butcher it if you _don't_ like what I did”, Faraam grinned. “But you may brush it, if you wish to.” Ornstein always enjoyed brushing Faraam's hair because it felt so _weird_ , unlike any other hair he had ever seen. It was like the man himself; unyielding and rebellious, no storm could flatten it. He took the comb from the table and stood behind Faraam. The God sat down, but Ornstein had to remain standing to reach his head. “You are so tall”, he complained once again.

“Why did you neglect to absorb the power of the executioner, if I may ask? You could have been taller yourself by now”, Faraam remarked.

“You know why”, Ornstein sighed, “I murdered him in cold blood and therefore it would have been dishonorable to take his soul. It is bad enough that I threw him into the gears of the elevator”, he winced.

“A splendid idea, by the way. Great strategic thinking on your part, but this is hardly surprising, of course”, Faraam said, obviously enjoying having his hair brushed. He looked like a big, content cat.

 

After a few minutes of silently brushing the white bristles, a thought entered the knight's mind.

“My thoughts had been revolving around Solaire, so I did not really think about it earlier, but – don't you think it was a bit harsh to completely rob Gwyndolin of his power? Is he not entirely defenseless now?”, Ornstein asked.

Faraam frowned. “He posed a threat to my covenant. He fooled so many of my warriors, leading them to meaningless deaths and I didn't even _know_! I _begged_ him to stop, but he refused – and you know that I _never_ beg. He knew it too, and still decided to disregard my warnings and confront me. What else could I have done? Should I have killed my own brother? Should I have mutilated him? No, taking his power was the only thing I could do to stop him. You know how stubborn he is, he never would have listened.”

“You are probably right. It just doesn't sit well with me that he is all alone in that broken place now _and_ unable to use his magic. He has his covenant at his disposal, but there is no telling if they will remain loyal to a God that is effectively powerless. I noticed that he didn't even attack us in the fight, just tried to imprison us in his illusion”, Ornstein remarked.

 

“He would have left us in that corridor to starve, or have us killed by illusions of our friends as soon as we had turned our backs. He _would_ have killed us, Ornstein, do not be fooled by his frail appearance or his lace dress. Gwyndolin is a cunning opponent and you should never underestimate him. Now stop talking about him, I am actually feeling guilty now”, Faraam grumbled. The knight shook his head with a smile and continued to untangle the huge, wiry mane.

“He is frail and weak without his magic, things are only going to get worse for him from now on. You defeated him so quickly... I just wish we could check on him from time to time, but it would be unwise to return with the Darkmoon Blades lying in wait.”

 

“I told you to stop talking about him!...now I am in a bad mood, thank you very much, Ornstein. I believe I am in need of some distraction!”, Faraam announced. Ornstein was surprised when the God swiftly turned around and pulled him into his lap with a vicious grin.

“Faraam, I wasn't done brushing your hair!”, he scolded and playfully batted him on the head with the comb. .

“You are done, you are _sooo_ done...”, Faraam grinned and looked down at him with dilated pupils.

 _Oh. Alright, I am done_ , Ornstein shrugged when he felt Faraam's hands travel down his back and rest on his hips. “So this is the sign that you have recovered completely, I assume?”, the knight quipped and carelessly threw aside the comb.

“Let me show you”, Faraam grinned as he got up, slung a protesting Ornstein over his shoulder and marched off with him.

“Wait! Where are we going?”, he asked and helplessly looked as Faraam walked past the bed and jumped out of the window. But the God did not answer.

 

“...let me guess”, the knight said, “you are not satisfied with my hair brushing skills and will now dispose of me by throwing me off the platform?” Faraam still did not answer. He walked past the giant bell and descended the stairs, approaching the mausoleum. Ornstein suddenly knew where this was going and he immediately began to struggle. “No, Faraam! I told you that I am not doing this! You will leave your blasted altar out of this!” With a skillful rotation of his own body, he managed to swiftly wreathe out of Faraam's grip and darted off before the God could do anything about it. Faraam obviously wanted to annoy him, but two could play that game.

 

With a growl, Faraam gave chase and soon they were bolting across the temple grounds at insane speed, laughing and provoking each other. While Faraam was inherently faster and stronger, Ornstein had the advantage of being more lithe and nimble. Whenever Faraam threatened to catch him, he sidestepped and dodged with ease, bolting off into a different direction. He may have been unable to beat Faraam in a fight, but escaping was a whole different story: There were many holes in the old stone walls, many of them big enough for him to fit through, but too small for Faraam – a perfect opportunity to gain some distance. Ornstein caught a glimpse of the God's irritated face and laughed in triumph, but all of a sudden he was being swept off his feet by a gust of wind, losing his balance and tumbling across the stony ground. Faraam was on top of him in a second, pinning him to the ground and regarding him with a broad grin. “Got you!”

“No! You have won unjustly by attacking me!”, Ornstein half laughed, half scolded as he was being picked up again, “You would have been unable to catch me without the help of your wind attacks!”

“Oh, I don't know about that. I would have caught you in the end, I just don't appreciate having to chase you around when I have waited three weeks to finally have some _fun_ ”, the God smirked, resuming his walk to the mausoleum with swift steps.

 

“What is it about this altar, anyway? It is made from cold stone and – hmpf, this will be so uncomfortable!”, Ornstein complained.

“We can place a cloth on it”, Faraam suggested but Ornstein just rolled his eyes, displeased.

They entered the mausoleum and the God made a beeline for the altar, putting Ornstein down to look for a suitable cloth. “Don't even try to run, or I will chain you to it”, he warned.

“Pff, don't be ridiculous. Did you develop some sort of inferiority complex, now that you have been chased around by humans like a wild hog?”, the knight teased, “How about this? _You_ go ahead and make yourself comfortable on your altar, and _I_ will have my way with you for a change.” Faraam looked at him as if he had grown a second head. When he realized that the knight was serious, he grinned and said: “Let's make a deal: If you happen to defeat me in battle someday, we can talk about it. But until then, my answer is no.” Ornstein's pride suddenly rose from its slumber and demanded retribution.

“What does this have to do with defeat? It is not like I am inferior to you, just because I let you – great, this is embarrassing. Well done, Faraam, you just ruined the mood”, he grumbled and glared at him.

 

Faraam looked back at him, unimpressed. “You misunderstood. I did not mean to say that you are weak for assuming a passive role or anything, but it is simply more fun if we have a deal. Ah, I think this one will suffice.” He had finally managed to find a rug that was somewhat clean and not _entirely_ threadbare, and proceeded to place it on the altar.

“Why would it be more fun?”, Ornstein scoffed, “Are you unable to relax unless someone beats you into submission first?”

Faraam grabbed him by the hips and made him sit on the altar's edge, looking deep into his eyes, a predatory grin on his lips. “I will show you when you defeat me”, he promised as he slowly pushed Ornstein down until he was lying on his back, the God's hands roaming all over his body and combing through his red locks. _Damn you_ , the knight thought as he once again felt his body go limp under the attentions to his hair.

 

“But speaking of defeat...the way I see it, there is something... _alluring_ about a defeated adversary”, Faraam grinned as he leaned in, staring him down out of half-closed eyes while pinning his wrists to the altar, “Fighting him until he cannot lift his weapon, chasing him until he cannot take another step. He is lying there, exhausted and at my mercy, all sweaty and shiny”, he growled, wedging himself between the knights legs and running his hands over the insides of his thighs, “and the _fear_. The silent despair in his eyes as my shadow falls on him; afraid of the deathblow. But in those very moments, my desire to kill is replaced with something _else_ ”, he growled, his lips mere inches away from Ornstein's ear. “Of course... it would be dishonorable, unforgivable even to act on these... desires of mine.... but I will not deny having them. I imagine”, he whispered as he gently began to pull Ornstein's boots off, “that I pin these men to the ground and peel them out of their armor like a ripe fruit, laying them bare before me, the spoils of war.”

His hands wandered beneath Ornstein's tunic, lightly scratching over his skin with his nails as he took off the garment far too slowly for the knight's liking, every touch caressing and commanding at the same time. “And when they are all pliable and relaxed”, Faraam breathed, barely audible, “I conquer them, and they submit to me....and I make them feel bliss.”

Ornstein felt dizzy, not really sure what was happening. Was Faraam telling him about some obscure and perverse fantasies of his while debauching him on his altar? His pride compelled him to scold Faraam or at least mock him for his blasphemous actions, but his muscles had turned to jelly a long time ago and all he could feel was a coiling arousal and the desire to spread his legs for the insolent bastard on top of him. _Curse him and his blasted hands!_

Perhaps it was because he trusted Faraam, and he knew that the God would never force himself onto anyone against their will. But still – everything about this situation was outrageous!

“I cannot believe we are doing this. You are so depraved”, Ornstein grumbled and covered his blushing face in his hands, ashamed of being turned on by Faraam's horrible stories.

 

“Just the way you like it”, Faraam said, busy with taking off the rest of Ornstein's clothes.

“You – you have never done it, have you?”, Ornstein panted. “Done what?”, Faraam asked with a raised eyebrow, and sighed: “Why are you wearing so many clothes today...”

“You have never... taken advantage of your enemies like that.” _Please tell me that you haven't._

Faraam frowned and playfully slapped his thigh. “Of course not, I would never commit such a vile deed. I just wanted to see if I can make your face match your hair color!”

Ornstein growled and was about to deliver a vicious comeback, but Faraam shushed him with a kiss. “Stop asking foolish questions and sing for me, Ornstein. Before I lose my patience and _make you_ ”, he winked.

 

“I'd like to see you try”, the knight mocked, but his resolve was quickly broken when Faraam descended unto him like a thunderstorm, ending his rebellion for good.

He absolutely ravaged him on that altar, knowing exactly what to do to break through his defenses and bring him to the brink of insanity.

Ornstein really didn't know what went on in the God's head and he was unsure if he even  _wanted_ to know, for Faraam was even more dominant and rough than usual. He seemed  _thrilled_ to finally have him on that altar, doing ungodly things to him that made him lose all self control. At some point, the knight surrendered to his own desire and closed his eyes, baring his throat to the other man in submission. Faraam, as always, reacted strongly to this gesture and proceeded to force some rather embarrassing moans out of him, but Ornstein was too blissed out to care. No one would hear him anyway, the serpents knew exactly when to stay clear of them – and it felt so good to just let everything go for a short time, forgetting his pride and rumination and just lying there, taking what Faraam was giving him. And he gave him exactly what he wanted, what he  _needed_ . 

“I … love you, Faraam”, Ornstein rasped when his thoughts were somewhat coherent again, suddenly feeling the need to say it. He was still lying on the altar and Faraam was lying next to him on his side, gently stroking his hair to soothe his overstimulated body and mind. To Ornstein's dizzy brain, he looked like a statue, all powerful limbs and chiseled muscle. Only his eyes looked far too alive to be made of stone, two windows to a stormy sky with ever moving clouds and the occasional flicker of lightning. “I love you too, dearest Ornstein”, Faraam rumbled into his ear, “How about a nice bath? You must be cold”. The God gently picked him up, not waiting for an answer. Ornstein rested his cheek against Faraam's chest and let himself be carried without protesting – he was simply too exhausted. As soon as they had reached the bath and Faraam had lowered them into the warm water, he immediately dozed off. It was so comfortable and warm, and he could just lean back against Faraam's broad chest and relax.

 

 

When he woke again, his skin was already somewhat shriveled which told him that they had been sitting in the pool for quite some time now.

“I don't even know what to say, Faraam. You have one utterly depraved and dirty mind and the contents of it are probably more unsettling than all of the creatures of the abyss combined. You are a _horrible_ menace”, Ornstein sighed, still somewhat sleepy.

“My thoughts are not half as scary as your sass”, the God smiled and kissed the top of his head. They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warm water and each others company, before Ornstein suddenly thought of Solaire again.

“You have recovered completely?”, the knight asked. Faraam thought about it and nodded.

“This means... we can finally try to find Solaire?”, he asked hopefully.

“I should be strong enough for it now”, Faraam agreed, “and I've already spent a lot of time thinking about the best approach. He might not be easy to find, our best bet is probably the covenant.”

 

Ornstein ducked his head in shame. “I only hope he did not lose his faith after what I've done to him... He might even have left the covenant”, he grumbled, but Faraam shook his head.

“Solaire's faith is really strong, I doubt he would lose it over a simple death”, he frowned.

“You do not understand, Faraam. It wasn't just _any_ death, it was – Solaire was so _happy_ when he found out your true identity. I could see it in his eyes, he couldn't _wait_ to talk to you about it. But then I just took that opportunity away from him and – this might sound ridiculous, but what if it was _you_ he has been searching for all that time?”

 

“ _Me_? That is highly unlikely. He is looking for his very own sun, not for the shell of some former God who vegetates on top of a desolate mountain. He is probably just curious because I am the leader of his covenant”, Faraam shrugged. 

“So your ego _did_ shrink, I am _speechless!_ ”, Ornstein exclaimed, “the Faraam I know would never talk about himself this way. Finally someone managed to beat some modesty into you, thank goodness!”

He had expected to be dunked, or at least a witty retort, but Faraam suddenly looked a bit sad. He tried to hide it behind one of his smiles, but his eyes were full of sorrow. “Oh Faraam, I am sorry”, Ornstein mumbled and turned around to hug him. He began to realize that the situation was taking a bigger toll on the God than he let on. “It is not your fault that our power is fading, you don't need to be ashamed”, he assured him, but Faraam stuck out his tongue at him and sank deeper into the water until it reached up to his eyes. He looked up at Ornstein with an amused spark in his eyes and proceeded to blow bubbles under the surface. Ornstein sighed and reversed their position, sitting behind Faraam and cradling his huge skull in his arms. “You are so _terribly_ stubborn. I told you that I don't mind your weakness, nor your fear, and yet you still hide hem from me. But why?”

 

Faraam didn't answer, just blew some more bubbles. He had been holding his breath for quite some time now. “You know”, Ornstein continued, “just because I am shorter and younger than you, it doesn't mean that you always have to be the one doing the holding and comforting. If something upsets you, please tell me and I will try to lift your spirits”, he promised and nuzzled the God's wiry mop of hair.

Finally, Faraam lifted his head above the water and rested it against Ornstein's chest.

“I don't deserve you”, he mumbled, “Perhaps I _should_ try to be more honest about everything. It's just – I _hate_ being so weak, I try to accept it but I don't think I will _ever_ get used to it”, he grimaced. Ornstein shrugged.

“Neither will I, but we will have no choice but to adjust. I know that neither of us are... _used_ to losing, but it was our own fault: We tried to take on a small army by ourselves, disregarding or _perhaps not even realizing_ that the divine powers that allowed us to get away with this recklessness are fading. But even without your divine powers, you are still an exceptional warrior! So if we adapt our strategy and stop being so incredibly foolhardy, we should be just fine”, Ornstein assured him, holding on to Faraam's head when he tried to vanish below the surface once again.

The God struggled and finally freed himself of the knights grasp, adjusting his position to sit next to Ornstein and drape an arm across his shoulders. “Being reckless is half the fun of it. But you are right, we will have to be more careful”, he sighed, mouthing the word 'boring' at him.

“I would rather be boring and alive than interesting and dead. We cannot simply die before finding Solaire first. Speaking of it – you told me you have an idea how to find him. Should we place our summoning signs in dangerous places and hope that he summons us once again?”, the knight asked.

“I have thought about this as well, but then I remembered Solaire telling us that he prefers to _be_ summoned and rarely ever summons help himself. The chances that he will summon us are probably rather low”, Faraam mused. Then, he looked at Ornstein with a twinkle in his eyes and smiled his _old_ smile again, not the one that hid his insecurities nowadays.

 

“Ornstein, would you like to go on a journey with me? A final voyage in this world, before we leave it for good?”

“A... journey? You wish to find Solaire by actually venturing out and searching the lands? Will that not take an awfully long time?”, Ornstein wondered.

“We will travel with the help of a dragon, of course. We will seek out the dangerous places that are frequented by many of my warriors, and then _we_ will summon _him_ to help us _._ I believe this is the fastest way to find him, he appears to be very active in the covenant. If only my power wasn't fading, we might even have been able to locate him by his prayers... But I cannot seem to hear _any_ prayers lately”, Faraam explained with a slight frown.

 

Ornstein looked down at his hands that were completely wrinkly now. They had been sitting in the bath for almost two hours and he was starting to feel really uncomfortable. “So what are we waiting for?”, he asked, “Let us get out of the water and prepare for the journey. My gut is telling me that Solaire might not have much time left.”

“Don't worry, I bet your gut is merely upset because it took a vicious pounding just now”, Faraam laughed as they emerged from the bath and quickly got dressed.

“Just wait, Faraam. One day, I will defeat you and take all of my accumulated anger out on your arse!”, the knight promised and slapped Faraam's butt as he walked past. Without waiting for another retort, he marched off to gather his supplies for the journey. “I can't wait!”, Faraam hollered after him, but he just rolled his eyes and kept walking.

 

Back in his own, rarely used quarters, he checked his equipment and tended to his armor, lovingly caressing the lion's face as he polished it. He had missed wearing it and if Faraam couldn't be bothered to uphold their cover and would just give their real names anyway, there was no point in wearing a disguise to begin with.

A few serpents arrived and offered their help, which he gladly accepted. While he had been repulsed by them at first, he had come to realize by now that they were fiercely devoted and modest creatures. They rarely talked, but took their housekeeping- and guard-duties very seriously and even had begun to cover their heads with rags, after Ornstein had cruelly complained to Faraam about their hideous faces. Now, he felt bad about it and always made sure to thank them whenever they brought him new clothes, food or helped him with something.

“Thank you for your assistance, I appreciate it”, he said when two of them helped him into his armor. It wasn't really necessary, for he could put it on all by himself, but being helped made him feel more like a knight and less like some lowly mercenary. They had even brought provisions for the journey, neatly packaged in a big, tattered leather bag. When he was fully equipped at last, he took his spear in one hand and the bag with the provisions in the other, nodding his thanks to the serpents. They watched him in silence and the knight wondered what they were thinking. He could only see their snouts sticking out of the rags, remaining silent as he left his quarters and approached the plaza in front of the mausoleum where they had agreed to meet.

 

He was astonished at what he saw: Sitting on top of his stormdrake that appeared to have risen from the dead somehow, Faraam waited in the middle of the vast space, surrounded by a small army of serpent-summoners and – _another_ Faraam?

Ornstein lowered the hinged jaw of his helmet to get a better view, he couldn't believe his eyes. But when he approached, he could see that the Faraam on top of the Stormdrake looked... _weird_. He wore the same clothes and the same hair, but his scarf was pulled up to cover nearly all of his face. What small parts the knight could see of his skin appeared to be an unhealthy, dark gray color – it bore an eerie resemblance to a corpse. The stormdrake looked rather withered as well, not half as majestic as it had been in life.

While he was standing there, gazing up at the eldritch thing, the Faraam that had been waiting on the ground noticed him and approached.

“What took you so long? You missed everything!”, the God exclaimed and patted him on the back to shake him out of his dumbfounded stupor.

 

“Faraam, what.... _is_ that? What have you _done_?”, the knight asked, looking at him with a disbelieving frown.

“This, my dear knight, is the result of everyone here working together to create something grand!”, he explained and gestured to the small army of mages and summoners, “They have tried to create an illusion of my deceased friend, the stormdrake. You see, I left Gwyndolin's shard of the Lordsoul for them to tinker with, but this illusion is still flawed: It cannot stray far from the place it was created in or it will dissolve. At the moment, it cannot even fight, or do much of anything really, but they will continue to work on it while we're gone. They just wanted to inform me of their newest results before I depart.”

 

“But... why would you even have need for something like _this_?”, Ornstein asked, still disgusted by the mummified looks of mount and rider, “It looks dreadful!”

Faraam shrugged. “The whole charade back in Anor Londo gave me the idea. When we leave this place for good, there will be nobody left to protect it and after everything the serpents have done for me, I would loathe to leave them empty handed and to fend for themselves. This ghastly illusion will make intruders think twice before attacking this place.”

“You always have the weirdest ideas. It must run in the family”, Ornstein deadpanned.

Faraam shouldered his own bag of provisions that had been sitting next to him on the ground. “I don't have much respect for illusions myself, but a King has to care for his subjects and if this is the best way to protect them in my absence, I will utilize it.

But enough of that! Are you prepared, Ornstein? Did the serpent-men provide you with everything you need?”, he asked.

“They did. Did you give them the order? I cannot shake the feeling that they sometimes do things on their own accord”, the knight mused. Faraam shrugged.

“They know when and where they are needed. And more important: They know when to stay clear of us”, the God grinned and made a lewd gesture to clarify what he meant when Ornstein didn't dignify him with a response.

“Yes, whatever. Let us not talk about it, you horndog”, Ornstein grunted. “So, which dragon will carry us? Has Praan still not returned?”, he asked, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. Faraam shook his head and started walking.

“I am afraid we cannot wait for him. Nohro has agreed to serve as our mount on this journey, she is much older and more powerful than Praan anyway.”

This was really disappointing. Ornstein had been looking forward to travel on Praan's back, it would most likely be his last opportunity to do so. He followed Faraam, wondering what could be so important in ashen lake to hold the young dragon's interest for such an extended period of time. But nobody knew, not even the other dragons – Praan had been very vague in his descriptions.

 

They found Nohro near the entrance to the temple grounds: The huge, light gray dragon was sunbathing on one of the rocks that framed the path leading down the mountainside.

She raised her head when she heard them approach and regarded them out of her ruby eyes. Like many of the archdragons, she had four wings and soft, gray fur that was especially pronounced on her neck, making it look like she had a mane. She had been among the very first dragons Ornstein had met in archdragon peak, but he had never really talked to her that much.

“Nohro, thank you so much for helping us with this”, Faraam beamed at her, moving in to hug her tree trunk of a neck. Ornstein could have sworn that the corners of her maw stretched back in the hint of a smile, but he was not sure. “Of course, my King. It pleases me greatly to be of assistance to your cause”, she rumbled and took his bag, turning to Ornstein and holding out her huge claw. “Thank you”, the knight mumbled as he handed her his bag as well. “Did you bring a rope?”, she asked and looked at Faraam again.

“Oh, it is still attached to my bag”, he said, and Nohro turned his bag around, detaching the rope and uncurling it. It was very long and thick, and the dragon proceeded to tie it around her waist and across each shoulder, tying it into the shape of a simple harness. She then attached both bags to her waist.

 

“If we happen to find anything we have to take with us, this should make it easier to transport. Also, we can tie ourselves to her and sleep mid-flight without falling off”, Faraam explained when he noticed Ornstein's questioning gaze.

Nohro was really smiling at them now, baring the small forest of white, pointy needles in her mouth. “Do not forget to mention, my King, that on an earlier journey you let go of your luggage and it fell into the deep. Twice.”

Ornstein raised a brow at Faraam and gave him the most annoying grin he could manage.

“We have yet to take off and the two of you are already conspiring against me. Traitors!”, Faraam laughed, walked over to Nohro's front leg and jumped onto her back. Ornstein followed his example, mindful to not stab the dragon with his spiky armor. Even if the scales were almost indestructible; Praan had taught him that dragons could still feel with them.

 

He cast one last glance towards the temple grounds and sat down behind Faraam, then Nohro pushed her powerful legs against the rock and beat her wings, taking off into the unknown. Ornstein looked down at the sea of clouds that obscured the mountains below, wondering where they should begin their search.

“Can you even see anything back there? Come here, you little runt”, the God grinned as he turned around and grabbed Ornstein by the sides, sitting him down in front of him and wrapping his arms around him.

“Faraam no! There is enough space on this dragon for twenty of us, there is absolutely no need to huddle.”

“Why, Ornstein? Don't you love me anymore?”, Faraam laughed and pressed him even closer to his chest. Ornstein took the God's hand and placed them next to the outside of his legs, making them rest against the dragons scales.

“I have nothing against your cuddle addiction in private, but we are venturing out into the world now. I do not wish for us to appear as a pair of lovestruck fools in front of our enemies”, he explained.

 

“And here I thought you had gotten rid of that stick up your ass”, Faraam grumbled. Thankfully, his hands stayed where he had placed them.

“Where do you wish to fly, my King?”, Nohro's voice boomed in the huge thorax beneath them. They could actually feel the vibration of her voice.

“Fly beneath the clouds and to the northwest. We are heading for a place called _firelink shrine_ , in Lordran.”

“I understand. The place is known to me, you do not have to show me the way”, the dragon rumbled and adjusted her course.

 

“Why firelink shrine? It is no dangerous place at all, will there even be any warriors of yours?”, Ornstein asked and looked at Faraam over his shoulder.

Faraam nodded. “It has come to be a safe haven for traveling undead warriors and many of them meet up there. At first I assumed the convenient geographic position to be the reason for this, but now that I know of Gwyndolin's plans, I believe there is a greater significance to it.

Whatever the case; we will most certainly meet at least one of my warriors there, and then we can inquire about the places currently frequented by them.”

 

Ornstein hummed in answer and contemplated this for a while. It made sense, even though he wasn't sure if Solaire – who had taken a look behind the curtain now – would still follow the same paths as the other undead warriors. Also, Gwyndolin's grand plan had been thoroughly _canceled_ , which may or may not have affected their whereabouts.

They flew in silence, listening to the beating of Nohro's great wings against the air. It sounded like wind blowing into the sails of a great ship. They were much slower than they had been with the stormdrake, but Ornstein found that he actually preferred this calmer, slower way of traveling over the frantic rush in the heart of a storm. He assumed that Faraam did not share this opinion, though. Night fell, shrouding the sky into a murky, starless fog that blocked out the moonlight and plunged the ruined world below them into complete darkness. Only a few fires raged here and there, eating away at the mutated nature and abandoned cities. Ornstein felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to look at Faraam, who had covered his mouth and nose with his scarf.

“I will lay myself to rest”, the God said and leaned in so the knight could hear him better, “we should arrive tomorrow around noon. If you wish to rest as well, make sure to tie yourself to the dragon.” He produced a smaller rope from one of his pockets and handed it to him.

“I will”, Ornstein assured him and wanted to turn around again, but Faraam took hold of his helmet and kissed it on the snout.

“Good night”, he smiled before pulling up his scarf again and scooting back a little, curling up on the soft fur and scales.

 

“Good night”, Ornstein mumbled, suddenly flustered. It didn't matter how long he had been in a relationship with Faraam – these tiny gestures of affection, no matter how embarrassing they might be, always managed to warm his heart. He reached behind him and gently ruffled through Faraam's wild mane before laying down himself, halfheartedly wrapping the rope around his waist and tying it to the larger rope that ran across the dragon's back. Sleeping in his armor was uncomfortable, but he had gotten used to it a long time ago.

 

He dreamed of days that never were: Ciaran, Gough and Ornstein himself had accompanied Artorias and Sif and helped them to solve the issue with the Abyss, resulting in their collective survival. Anor Londo welcomed them back with a great celebration where everyone was invited, even Solaire and every single one of Faraam's beloved warriors. Faraam had never been exiled, instead he had convinced Gwyn to make peace with the everlasting Dragons and together, they had found a way to stop the first flame from fading. Gwyn was so proud of his firstborn son that he didn't even get _too_ mad when Faraam had proposed to Ornstein in public, disinhibited by a combination of alcohol and his ever present impertinence.

Ornstein smiled peacefully behind his snarling lion visor, lost to the dying world that rushed past beneath the great, gray dragon. Finally, the clouds began to dissolve and hung in the air like tattered wisps, revealing a full moon that covered the scenery with a soothing blanket of silver.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Morning among the clouds brought a heavy layer of dew with it that clung to the dragon's fur in the shape of a thousand sparkling drops. It was cold, damp and uncomfortable, seeping into Ornstein's armor and making him shiver and wake with stiff limbs. He fumbled with the knots of the rope and untied himself from the dragon, sitting up and taking a look at his surroundings: Faraam was still fast asleep behind him, still in his curled up position, his huge body safely secured to the dragon with three ropes. They were flying across a grayish, barren landscape that was dusted with a desaturated green in some places. Ornstein stifled a yawn and began to crawl towards the dragon's waist, reaching for his bag. He burrowed through it and pulled out several strips of dried meat that bore an uncanny resemblance to the leatherbag itself. With a shrug, he reached into the bag once more and added a shriveled turnip and a flask of water to his selection before closing the bag. Pressing the items against his chest with one arm, he used the other to crawl back to his former spot.

While Nohro's flight was fairly steady most of the time, sometimes heavy gusts blew across her back and Ornstein didn't want to risk losing his helmet, so he did not take it off but simply lowered the jaw of the lion visor instead. The turnip tasted horrible and the meat could as well have been real leather, but he had gotten used to the modest food by now. The only thing the serpents were able to cook that he actually liked was stew, but transporting stew wouldn't have been as convenient. As he tore into the meat and absentmindedly asked himself if it was _actually_ leather, Faraam began to stir. Ornstein stopped chewing and watched him. He liked to watch Faraam wake up, because there were a few precious seconds when he actually looked cute and innocent, his gray eyes unfocused and dazed, just before his face would be overtaken by perverted grins and a bold sparkle in his eyes again.

 

“Good morning, sweet prince”, Ornstein smiled down at him and ruffled his white mane, causing Faraam to groan and bury his face in the fur of the dragon.

“You know I dislike being watched while I sleep”, he yawned, but then his hands fumbled for the ropes and the God untied himself without even looking. “Faraam, if you had to guess – what is this?”, the knight asked and held one of the meat strips out to him.

“Aren't those spare leatherstraps for your armor?”, Faraam answered and swiftly turned his face away to hide his grin, but Ornstein had already seen it. Faraam got to his feet and walked across the dragon's back as if he were on solid ground, swaying dangerously in the stiff breeze. “Don't be so reckless! You promised to be more careful from now on”, Ornstein complained when another strong gust threatened to sweep them off the dragon's back and Faraam only managed to hold on by swiftly dropping down to one knee.

“Yes, mother”, the God hollered back at him, but then he got up again and walked to his bag, still swaying horribly. Ornstein refused to look at him any longer and turned his gaze straight ahead. The landscape had changed: There were less fires and more towns and castles than before, dotting the gray-greenish landscape in withered colors that might have been vibrant a long time ago. He observed the ever changing scenery in silence while Faraam had breakfast, letting his gaze roam across Nohro's long neck and comparably tiny head.

His experience as a former Dragonslayer told him that Dragons could fly for days without resting, but yet he found himself wondering if Nohro was tired, or hungry. “Won't you eat anything, Nohro?”, he called out to her.

The tiny head turned a little to look at him and she exposed her needle teeth in another smile. “Do not concern yourself with my needs, lionman. They will be met in time.” She turned her head away again. Ornstein shrugged and took a gulp from his flask, when suddenly a familiar sight appeared on the horizon: The mighty forest that had once been the royal wood of Oolacile began to take over the landscape. It looked dark and eerie and Ornstein could catch glimpses of old ruins and strange shadows beneath the trees. It had been a beautiful forest once, full of life and meticulously cared for, but now it looked absolutely haunting. His heart sank when he spotted a glade that he immediately recognized – the final resting place of his fellow knight and good friend, Sir Artorias. He had visited it many times, but now he averted his gaze and forcefully dragged his mind out of the past. His sadness would not make Artorias come back to life, it would only weaken him on this mission.

 

After they had been flying over the dense woodland for quite some time, a settlement came into view that had come to be known as the undead parish. Faraam had spotted it as well and called out: “What a pleasant surprise, Nohro! Noon has yet to come and we have already reached our destination!”

“I may not be as fast as your late drake, but I am not slow by any means”, Nohro droned while smiling her pointy needle smile. She accelerated even further, drawing in her huge wings and diving towards the great church.

“Will the roof hold her weight?”, Ornstein asked and held on to the ropes for dear life.

“I don't think so”, Faraam answered. “Nohro! You should try to land by the forests edge. The trees will keep you out of sight, after all we don't know what dangers lurk in these lands nowadays.”

“As you wish, my King”, she rumbled and adjusted her course, landing in a clearing near the church with a silent gentleness unbefitting of such a huge creature.

After taking a good look at his surroundings and deeming it safe, Faraam jumped off first and walked over to her head. “If anything attacks you, take to the skies and wait for my orders; I will send a lightning strike up when I have need for you. Do _not_ , under _any_ circumstances, engage in combat by yourself.”

The dragon nodded. “I cannot fathom the reason for this caution, but if this is your wish, my King, I will do as you say.”

 

Faraam turned to Ornstein who had begun to detach the bags from the dragon's waist.

“Leave it”, the God ordered him, “it will only slow us down. We will not venture far from here.” Ornstein shrugged and fastened the straps again before jumping off as well.

They bid the dragon farewell and made their way through the dense underbrush until they could see a stone wall with a door that belonged to the old church of the parish. It was a short way, but Ornstein was still surprised that they weren't attacked by any forest creatures.

“Now I wish we had disguised ourselves”, the knight muttered, “I am not looking forward to the reactions we will get.”

“Where is your sense of adventure?”, Faraam asked and patted him on the back, a reassuring smile on his face, “Besides, you looked so unhappy not being able to wear your own armor on our last trip, that I didn't have the heart to separate you from it once more. And this beautiful plume of yours, it looks so much like your hair.”

Faraam went to grab it, but Ornstein evaded him with a quick sidestep. “Please, Faraam. Do not touch me this way when enemies could be watching”, he reminded him in a low voice.

 

“And in what way would that be, Ornstein? Is touching a plume considered intimate by your standards?”, he wiggled his eyebrows, “One would think not, judging from the way you - “

“Oh for Gwyn's sake! Can you be serious for _once_? Or will I have to carry your mangled, barely living body out of _this_ mission as well?”, Ornstein growled and glared at him, but Faraam crossed his arms behind his head and approached the vault below the old church with an air of absolute nonchalance, bending down to fit through the human-sized door. The room was large, gloomy and an absolute mess: There was rubble lying everywhere, the pillars had been smashed and moss was eating away at the walls and floor, making them almost indistinguishable from the forest floor outside. There had obviously been a fight, but no corpses or even bones were to be seen.

“Firelink shrine is just behind this church, right?”, Ornstein asked, but Faraam shook his head.

“No, this is just the _old_ church. We have to ascend the stairs and leave the building on the opposite side. Then, we will have to traverse the _new_ church and take the elevator down to Firelink shrine.”

 

“How come you know these parts of the kingdom so well? This is human territory”, Ornstein wondered.

“I am leading a covenant of warriors who are primarily human after all – or rather, undead – and have been traveling these lands for many decades. In the past, I used to be less withdrawn than I am today, so I know the old ways”, Faraam reminded him and then suddenly stopped in his tracks, holding out an arm in front of the knight to stop him as well. Ornstein froze and listened.

They had almost crossed the room and as they approached the door on the opposite side, they could hear a noise: A beating of metal on metal, too consistent to be a fight. This was definitely a blacksmith. Faraam's face shifted from concentrated to surprised and finally to incredulous.

“This is astonishing”, he mumbled, “there used to be an old blacksmith in here. But that was _centuries_ ago, he cannot possibly still be here! He was just a human.”

 

“Perhaps he is undead now. It wouldn't surprise me”, Ornstein shrugged. They sneaked up to the door and peeked into the next room. There he was: An old blacksmith, just like Faraam had described him, was working on a ridiculously large blade. On the ground in front of him two knights were sitting, engaged in quiet conversation. “Oh by the sun, he has customers”, Ornstein whispered. “Do these two happen to be members of your covenant by chance?”

“No. I can recognize my warriors at a glance, their aura is noticeably different – one could even say _incandescent_. But no, these two are no warriors of mine. We will not reveal ourselves to them, it would only be a waste of time”, the God whispered back.

Faraam lifted his spear and gave Ornstein a knowing look. “Stay close to me, I will distract them with a nice little breeze and then we rush past”, he grinned.

“Wait, isn't it too narrow-”, Ornstein began, but Faraam reached back and summoned a mighty wind that swept through the vault and into the blacksmith's workshop, scattering the tools and weapons everywhere and making the smith and the knights cower down and cover their heads with their hands.

Faraam squeezed through the small door and ran up the too tiny stairs on all fours like some wild beast, unable to walk upright in the narrow space. Ornstein had no choice but to follow, lest he'd be left behind, and he was equally troubled by the steps that were way too small for him as well. He lost his footing on the human sized steps several times and started to fall behind. Eventually he held on to the loose end of Faraam's long scarf that was wagging in front of him, letting himself be dragged along with the God. Whenever Faraam took a turn on these blasted circular stairs, Ornstein crashed against the wall, but his armor protected him from most of the harm that certainly would have befallen him otherwise. It was too cramped for him to stretch out his arms and break his fall, so he resigned to his fate of being dragged along like a noisy tin can. _This obstinate brute! He never listens_ , Ornstein thought wearily while he could literally _feel_ the bruises appear on his body.

 

At last, they had reached the end of the stairs and the main entrance of the old church. Faraam stood up on two legs again and briefly stopped to grab Ornstein by the waist and scold him: “Come hither, you're choking me!” The knight let go of the scarf and they rushed onward on the wind once more and traversed the colonnade that led to the new church at blinding speed. Ornstein could make out the ragged shapes of hollowed humans that went to attack them, but Faraam was way too fast for them, leaving them behind in mere seconds. “Let go, I can walk by myself now!”, Ornstein complained, but was ignored. Instead of entering the newer, bigger church, Faraam seemed to have changed his mind and jumped high into the air, landing on the rooftop with a crash and bounding across the sunbleached tiles while destroying several of them. He then proceeded to jump down the other side, braving the mind boggling drop down to Firelink shrine with the ease of a bird. They came to an abrupt stop on the large branch of an enormous tree that overshadowed the shrine.

“That... was the _opposite_ of stealth. Are you _mad?_ ”, Ornstein sputtered and tried to free himself of Faraam's grasp, but the God held him in an iron grip. “Be quiet”, he hissed and pressed his back against the trunk, casting a wary glance unto the ground level of the shrine.

“Why did we even enter the building if you knew it was that cramped? We could have taken the way around, or fly over it”, Ornstein hissed back, “You told me you've been here before, so why did you think this was a good idea?!”

“I used to be way shorter back then”, Faraam growled, “its easy to forget just how _tiny_ these human buildings are.”

“A _fine_ God of War you are. That must have looked utterly disgraceful...”, Ornstein groaned and actually batted the God's hands away now. “Let go of me! I told you several times now!”

 

With an insulted scowl, Faraam raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender and turned away from the knight, instead focusing his attention to the ground where a small group of humans had assembled, apparently talking about the stormwind that had swept across the shrine and disappeared as quickly as it had come. Ornstein followed his gaze. He was not surprised when the two knights from the old church came running and joined the others in their discussion – they probably assumed that some monster had invaded the shrine.

“There is one of my warriors”, Faraam whispered and pointed at the group sitting around the bonfire, “the knight in the Catarina armor.”

“Of course the one in the most ridiculous armor would be one of yours”, Ornstein growled, but he felt a bit relieved that there was at least _one_ person that might give them a clue on how to find Solaire.

“We have to separate him from the others. It would be unwise to reveal ourselves to such a large group of humans, they have a strong pack mentality and will most likely attack. Were they part of my covenant, I would have no such worries, but these people are unpredictable”, Faraam explained.

To their chagrin, the humans had settled down around the bonfire and looked like they didn't plan on going anywhere anytime soon.

The Catarina knight opened a large bag that was sitting next to him, producing several flasks of beverage which he generously dispensed among the group.

“Look, Ornstein!”, Faraam practically beamed at him, “of course the one with the most _generous_ display of camaraderie would be one of mine”, he winked, parroting the knights earlier jab at him. It was simultaneously cute and annoying how proud he always was of every little thing his warriors did. Like a father with a thousand children whom he always talked about – no matter if the other person wanted to hear it or not.

“He is actively keeping the others from leaving the bonfire, Faraam”, Ornstein remarked dryly, “These are merely sixteen humans. Don't you think it would be easier to just approach them?”

“I am very sure that they will attack me on sight. The way I look now, I could never pass for a human. I look like one of the things these humans fight all the time, they will never trust me. We have to wait until the Catarina knight is alone”, Faraam said. They quickly pressed their backs against the tree trunk when one of the human knights let his gaze wander up into the trees, but he did not spot them.

“But we have to find Solaire, perhaps one of them even knows him!”, Ornstein whispered with an edge of despair to his voice, “What if Solaire's own _brother_ is sitting down there and we miss a great opportunity just because said brother is not part of your covenant?”

 

Faraam raised a brow at him. “You have been scolding me for being reckless all day, Ornstein, and now you want me to go down there and face sixteen warriors of unknown skill and disposition? Make up your mind”, he sighed and prepared to jump off the tree, but Ornstein held his hand out to stop him.

“No, wait! You are right. Let me do this, I am smaller and less intimidating than you are, I could even pass for a human”, Ornstein said and took off his helmet and the ruby chain that ran across his chest, handing both to the God.

“Without these items, my armor is not _that_ memorable. I doubt that anyone would recognize me”, he said.

“You are almost twice as tall as them”, Faraam pointed out, frowning.

“And you are even taller, Faraam. You are right, it is fairly likely that they would attack you on sight, so I will do this by myself – after all, I am solely to blame for this whole situation.” The lion knight looked down at the humans and imagined Solaire in their midst, laughing and sharing stories. “If I fail to find Solaire and apologize to him, I will never forgive myself. Wait here, please, and don't do anything foolish”, he urged Faraam and gently squeezed his hand.

“You have some nerve”, Faraam muttered, “Be careful down there. If they attack you, get out of there, do not fight them! We wouldn't want to harm the Catarina knight, would we.”

 

With a silent nod, Ornstein turned around and jumped over to another tree, and another one, until he was far enough away from the bonfire to descend onto the ground unseen. He then strolled over to the group of humans at a relaxed pace, careful to keep himself out in the open and to look as unthreatening as he could manage. It didn't take long until the humans spotted him, alerting each other and watching him warily. Three of them even got up from the ground and brought their hands to the hilts of their swords.

 

“Greetings”, Ornstein called out with a wave of the hand, halting a few meters from the bonfire. “I do not wish to intrude, I am merely looking for a friend of mine and wanted to inquire if anyone has seen him.”

The humans seemed to relax somewhat, but still whispered among each other. Perhaps they were confused by his height.

“Oooh, another warrior! Sit with us and have a drink!”, the Catarina knight exclaimed with a voice that _dripped_ with good will and friendliness, making the other humans look at him in disbelief.

“Thank you for the kind offer, but it is not necessary-”, Ornstein began, but the Onion shaped knight got up and walked over to him without any apprehension, to the obvious horror of his comrades.

 

“I insist”, he said warmly and reached up to place a hand on Ornstein's shoulder. When he found that he couldn't reach it, he placed it on his back instead and pulled him along, back to the fire. The humans hurried to scoot aside and make some room for the weird, tall man with the golden armor and the red hair, but they still looked guarded and ready to attack.

_They must have died many times, it is no surprise they are so paranoid_ , the lion knight thought as he carefully sat down, mindful of the small humans and their bags that lay scattered about. He was instantly handed a flask of beverage by the Catarina knight, which he took somewhat awkwardly, nodding his thanks.

Ornstein felt the urge to look up at Faraam who was surely watching him, but he did not wish to bring attention to the God.

“My name is Siegbert of Catarina, and it is my pleasure to meet you, Sir...?”, the onion knight began, clearly expecting an introduction.

“My name is.... Sir Leo. Of Berenike”, Ornstein lied, remembering that Solaire had taken them for Berenike knights when meeting them in Anor Londo.

“ _That's_ why you're so tall. We were expecting the worst”, another knight said, “but to be fair, your equipment _is_ rather unusual for a Berenike knight. And that spear...I could have sworn to have seen you before” he frowned.

 

“Yes, I... had to adapt my equipment to my current undertakings. You see, my friend and I are hunting a truly dreadful wyvern, but we got separated”, Ornstein lied and decided to get it over with already. “Speaking of my friend – has anyone seen him lately? His name is Solaire of Astora. He is wearing primarily chain armor and a bucket helm with a red feather atop, and a rather striking sun emblem on his chest and shield. A very friendly man, always helpful and considerate.” Expectantly, he searched the faces of the humans.

“I have met him once, but it was a long time ago”, a knightess piped up and smiled at the fond memories, “in fact, he helped me to defeat the Gargoyles on the rooftop of this very church”. She pointed to the new church that loomed above the shrine. “But I have not seen him in a very long time. I hope he is doing all right.”

 

“I know him as well, but haven't seen him in quite a while either”, an old mage in tattered robes muttered, “I'm afraid he has gone mad though. He was always rambling about the sun, foolish nonsense, really. If you ask me, its a miracle in itself that he has not gone blind yet after staring at the sun for such a long time. I can only hope that you do not share his lack of wit, hahaha.”

Ornstein felt a familiar fury coil in his gut, but thankfully he was disciplined and level headed enough to simply regard the mage with a cold stare instead of skewering him for this insolence. “Anyone else?”, he asked, but nobody else spoke up.

“I would have a question as well, if you allow”, a knight wearing Balder armor asked with narrowed eyes, “Have you by any chance seen a strange creature lurking near the shrine? My companion and I were waiting whilst the blacksmith repaired my sword, but suddenly a huge beast entered the workshop, shrouded in stormclouds. I could not make out any details for it moved in a rapid blur, but it possessed certain features of a porcupine.... and I could have sworn I saw a flash of gold as well, same shade as your armor, good Sir.”

 

“I have not seen any beast, nor a storm. The weather seems perfectly calm to me”, Ornstein said, but the Balder knight looked unconvinced and hissed: “You are way too tall to be of human descent, even for a Berenike knight. Can you prove that you are no monster?”

“Now now, let's be peaceful, it is unwise to argue while a dangerous creature might lurk nearby, we have to look out for each other”, Siegbert tried to placate them, hurrying to hand out more beverage. The Balder knight laughed joylessly. “Siegbert, the monster is sitting right next to you. Just look at him, he's _huge_ ”, he grimaced, but then another human spoke up – a men in cleric robes that possessed the airs of a scholar. “Gervin, this man is surely no monster. If I had to take an educated guess, I would assume him to be of noble birth, perhaps even a distant relative of the ancient Lords. Am I correct, Sir Leo?”, he asked, tilting his head and piercing him with his scholarly gaze.

 

Ornstein was at a loss. He had expected the humans to acknowledge his presence and then return to whatever they had been doing before his arrival, giving him time to talk to Siegbert in private, but all eyes were still focused on him. His gut told him that it would be unwise to reveal his true heritage, for then the humans would know that he had lied to them. Furthermore, it was a possibility that they were not too fond of the ancient Lords and would slaughter every single one of them if given the chance. “I am but a simple human, no different from you”, Ornstein insisted and then turned to Siegbert, desperate to get this over with and leave, for the atmosphere around the bonfire was growing more tense by the second.

 

“Sir Siegbert, is that a sunlight talisman on your belt? Are you by any chance a warrior of sunlight?”, he asked with feigned surprise.

“Why, I certainly am!”, Siegbert exclaimed joyfully, “Your eyes are rather sharp, I am impressed.” Gervin grumbled something unintelligible about 'monster eyes', but Ornstein ignored him.

“A sublime choice, Sir Siegbert. My friend Solaire and I are part of the covenant ourselves. Say, would you mind answering some of my questions? The hunt for the wyvern has kept us occupied far longer than we planned, and I'm ashamed to say that I am not educated about the covenants recent activities. The way things look, the covenant will be my only chance to find my friend.”

“Hmmm... I am not sure what to tell you. As you certainly know, each of us bears their own duties, and therefore travels to different places”, Siegbert mused, quizzically tilting his head at him.

“Yes, I am aware of that. Still, many duties appear to be intertwined, and there have always been certain places where many members of our covenant could be found”, Ornstein said, trying to keep his voice amiable.

“Hmm. Let me think.....hmmm...........Oh, there _is_ a place, I believe. Quite a few of the warriors I recently met – among them several warriors of sunlight – have ventured down below, to hidden dungeons and caves underground. You might try your luck down there, I suppose”, Siegbert suggested.

Ornstein's mind was racing. There were several places beneath the surface of Lordran, one more unsettling than the next. But from what he had heard, they were all somewhat connected, so it was not _too_ disastrous that Siegbert could not elaborate further.

 

“Thank you so much, Sir Siegbert, this information is incredibly helpful. I will not tarry any longer, my friend could be in grave danger whilst we talk”, Ornstein said and hastily downed the beverage before getting up. “And thank you for the drink. Farewell, and good luck”, he said and finally mustered a faint smile, relieved to be able to leave now.

“Take care, Sir Leo. If fate wishes it so, we shall meet again and share another drink”, Siegbert exclaimed and raised his flask.

Ornstein nodded and turned to leave, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Gervin and two other knights get up, following him at a distance.

Siegbert was apparently aware of their motives: “Sir Gervin? Sir Callaghan? Where are you-”

“Just need to piss”, Gervin called and stalked after the lion knight.

 

_What a crude man_ , Ornstein thought and hastened his steps. He swiftly rounded the corner of a ruined tower and ascended the crumbling stone wall with a few jumps as soon as the line of sight to Gervin and his men was broken. Hiding on a platform of the ruin, he observed his pursuers with a condescending grin.

“Where did he go?” the man that had to be Sir Callaghan asked, “he was here just a second ago!”

“I told you he is a monster! He probably flew away on the wind”, Gervin scoffed.

Ornstein tensed up in surprise when two arms wrapped around him from behind.

“A porcupine, hm? I haven't been called _this_ before”, Faraam's amused voice came whispering into his ear. With a click, the God reattached the ruby chain to Ornstein's chest plate before placing the lion helmet on his head.

“Thank you”, Ornstein whispered and observed in amusement the fruitless search of the men below.

“You did really well. Had you been smaller, they wouldn't have suspected a thing”, Faraam said. He sounded pleased.

“You heard everything?”, Ornstein asked in a low voice. Faraam nodded.

“Down below it is, then. I do not fancy the cramped darkness below the surface, but we have no choice”, the God sighed, “If this is truly the only place that came to Siegbert's mind when being asked about the covenant, it is the most likely place to find Solaire. I remember there being an entrance to the old tombs not far from here. But first, we have to find Nohro and fetch our provisions. She will be unable to accompany us any further than this.”

 

Swiftly and silently, they jumped from tree to tree and onto the new church, making their way back to Nohro – this time, without any incidents. “Back so soon, my King?”, Nohro asked with obvious surprise upon seeing them.

“The plans have changed, Nohro. Our journey will take us underground, to places far too cramped for your kind. You would most certainly get stuck somewhere. Instead, we will take our bags with us and you will hide out in the nearby mountains. When our mission is complete, I will send my lightning up into the sky to call on you”, Faraam explained.

“I understand, my King. Please be careful, we could not bear to lose you”, Nohro answered. She actually looked somewhat concerned now, the corners of her muzzle drooping. “I will stay in these mountains until the end of time, if need be. I will wait for you, no matter how long it will take”, she promised.

Faraam hugged her neck once more and Ornstein had the sinking feeling that it could possibly be their final farewell. Nohro sure acted like it. When Ornstein detached the bags from the harness, the dragon turned to look at the knight. “Please see to our King's safe return, lionman. He means so much to dragonkind”.

“I will ensure his survival, and if it costs my own life”, Ornstein promised.

Faraam gave him a funny look. “Cease this nonsense, I am not a child in need of your protection, Ornstein”, he frowned and playfully punched his shoulder, “Oh, how I long for the days gone by, when you used to look upon my actions in amazement and admiration instead of fretting over _every little step I take_ , like an old washwoman.”

“You almost died on me and that was sufficient to wake me from my lovestruck stupor for good”, Ornstein huffed, “You don't get to play the reckless hero any longer, Faraam. Deal with it. Now, where is this entrance to the tombs you were speaking of?”

 

Faraam looked amused and annoyed at the same time. “...fine then. The nearest entrance should be located on a small graveyard, near firelink shrine. I assume that the warriors who went there are still influenced by the firelinking plan – why else would anyone seek out the domain of Nito and the witch? There is nothing down there but death and fire”, he shrugged and started walking towards the church once more, waving Nohro goodbye one last time. “Come on, Ornstein. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave again!”

 

They made a detour around the shrine, not keen on meeting the humans again, and finally found the old, overgrown graveyard that threatened to crumble from the steep cliff it was situated on.

“I wonder if Nito's adherents will attack us”, Ornstein said as they stood in front of the gaping black hole in the cliff that led to the catacombs.

“They most likely will”, Faraam answered, “there has never been an agreement that would protect the living who dared to enter here. It is Nito's domain, and my Lord Father respected this.”

“They would even attack Lord Gwyn?”, Ornstein asked with a frown, scanning his surroundings and not really knowing what to expect.

Faraam chuckled. “Most certainly not. But an exiled traitor and a knight who deserted his post will most likely not get any special treatment.”

He crouched down and crawled into the hole that would have been big enough for humans, but once again was too small for them. Ornstein sighed and followed his example, listening to his own breath in the darkness.

“Worry not, I am fairly certain it will not stay this cramped”, Faraam assured him, “but stay alert – this place ought to be guarded by the dead.”

 

They kept crawling through the darkness until the narrow passageway fanned out and led them into a large room that was dominated by a spiral staircase. Now that there was enough space to stand up, the God held out his spear and let lightning crackle along the blade to illuminate the room, looking down the ledge before jumping off. Ornstein could see pairs of pale lights flicker in the darkness and hurried to follow Faraam.

 

He followed him through the winding rooms and pathways, swiftly dispatching the occasionally attacking skeletons and sending their clattering bones to the ground.

“These creatures are ridiculously frail. Is there nothing more... _impressive_ guarding these tombs?”, Ornstein grimaced and kicked at the bones, somewhat disappointed.

Faraam shrugged. “I do not know what lies ahead, for I never traveled these parts of the land before. I merely know what I have gathered from looking at maps and hearing tales.”

They descended deeper and deeper below the surface and the number of skeletons grew more frequent, but it usually took a single hit to send their bones flying. Faraam took many shortcuts by jumping down into the blackness whenever he could, not bothering with stairs or ladders at all – and still, the hours crept by ever so slowly and Ornstein soon lost count of the many rooms and hallways they had already traversed.

“I wonder how your warriors manage to navigate this sinister labyrinth at all”, he huffed, “they are probably not half as fast as us, and yet they manage to crawl into every corner of this world, no matter how dark and hostile it might be. Such insanity.”

“It is admirable indeed”, Faraam said, somewhat absentmindedly. “But then again, they can try as many times as they like and simply get reset to the nearest bonfire upon failing. One who fears permanent death would surely not be as reckless.”

 

A brittle bone snapped somewhere behind them, most likely having been stepped on. Faraam swiftly turned and held out his spear to illuminate the space, coming face to face with – a bald man cowering behind a shield of mediocre proportions.

“F- for heavens sake, what _are_ you?”, the man asked in a shrill voice, eyes wide with terror.

“Is it a warrior of yours?”, Ornstein whispered, but Faraam subtly shook his head.

“Why are you following us, human?”, the God growled, “You are none of mine and therefore have no business with me. So explain yourself before I lose my patience.”

“I- yes, -” the man looked at Faraam's crown, ”your.... highness? I am terribly sorry, really! But you see, it was not my intention to follow you, I was simply going the same way-”

 

“DON'T you dare lie to me!”, Faraam roared and even Ornstein flinched at the sudden outburst. “You have been following us for quite some time now! Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice?! You have _one last chance_ to explain yourself!”

The bald man dropped to his knees and groveled. “No, please! I was searching these tombs for trinkets, and then I saw you! I was merely curious, I had no ill intentions at all!”

Ornstein had not noticed the man before and felt rather confused. Why was Faraam so angry? But then he saw it: The spear that now lay next to the man was brimming with occult energy – the weapon of a Godslayer.

But the bald man did not look the part; He was rather scrawny and wore tattered leather armor that had clearly seen better days.

“Where did you get this weapon?”, Faraam hissed and grabbed the man by his collar, lifting him to stare into his eyes.

“I found it!”, the bald man wailed, shielding his face with his hands to evade the angry stare of the God, “I can show you the spot! Oh please, please don't kill me!”

“Faraam...” Ornstein began and placed a hand on the God's arm, unsure if this was really necessary. The tombs were probably filled with old relics and strange weapons, and there was no proof that this bedraggled human was even _aware_ of the nature of his weapon. He looked fairly uneducated and dull.

 

Faraam unceremoniously dropped the human. “Show me, then!”, he commanded and pushed the man onward as soon as he had gotten up form the floor.

“Y-yes, p-please just follow me...”, the man stuttered and stumbled ahead of them.

“Faraam, what has upset you so?”, Ornstein whispered as they slowly followed the bald man, “Surely the possession of an occult weapon does not mean anything nowadays, when the undead mostly strive on stolen and salvaged equipment.”

 

“You fail to understand, Ornstein. This man – he managed to follow us for half an hour now and we have been traveling at a speed that should prove difficult for a human like him, all while evading or killing the skeletons that attacked him. He is skilled, even though he pretends to be a bungler – but that cannot fool me”, he growled, “The very fact that he is trying to deceive us like this is a clear sign that he might be dangerous.”

“I am ashamed to say that I didn't notice him at all”, Ornstein mumbled.

“You are wearing a helmet that is blocking out some sound and restricting your field of view, so this is hardly surprising”, Faraam said in a low voice, “But his weapon reminds me of a nasty rumor I once heard: Allegedly there used to be a secret society of necromancers that tried to usurp the power of Gravelord Nito. Word got to Anor Londo that this group was aiming to slay the Gods and conquer the world with an army of the dead and occult weapons.”

“Yes”, Ornstein said, “I remember hearing of this as well, it caused quite the panic. But it was such a long time ago. Didn't the Witch of Izalith look into it? If my memory does not fail me, she sent one of her daughters into Nito's domain. But said daughter returned with the news that the necromancers had apparently been crippled and deformed by their own experiments and would no longer prove a threat. Anyway, if this man over there was a necromancer, he wouldn't have fought the skeletons.”

 

They followed the bald man through a narrow passageway that was framed by rows of coffins and finally reached a ledge, where the bald man halted and waited for them. “I found it down there, in a pile of old weapons”, he said and pointed down the ledge into the darkness, “it is not deep, just jump and you will see.” Faraam gave him an unimpressed look.

“If you think that I cannot see the Titanite Demon that is lurking down there, you are sorely mistaken”, he growled and the bald man immediately fell to his knees and started groveling once again. “What? No! When I went down there, there was no demon to be seen! Come on, you wouldn't accuse me of trying to betray you, would you? I was only trying to help, so please-” Faraam rolled his eyes and kicked the bald man square in the chest, sending him flying down the ledge with a scream. A scrunching sound could be heard as the demon shifted his heavy limbs and undoubtedly began to attack the bald man.

“How did you know about the demon, Faraam? It is pitch black down there, are your eyes really that superior to mine own?”, Ornstein asked and peered down into the darkness where sounds of battle could be heard, interrupted only by the occasional curses and yells of the bald man.

 

“I can see a faint hint of his silhouette, but it is enough to tell me what kind of creature it is – after all, they are fairly unique in shape and size. But we should be on our way, this dawdling imbecile has already cost us too much time.” Faraam turned to leave, going back the way they had come. Ornstein followed close behind him. He was starting to feel tired; they had been in this tomb for many hours now and his aching legs and empty stomach were begging him for a break. But he would not embarrass himself in front of Faraam like that. With gritted teeth, he marched on and managed to keep pace with the taller man, ignoring the symptoms of exhaustion.

They walked and walked and crawled through narrow tunnels and then walked again, for hours. A while ago, Ornstein's stomach had started to make some embarrassing noises, demanding food. He fell back a little to prevent Faraam from hearing, but it was too late: The God turned to look at him and asked: “Are you tired, Ornstein? Would you like to take a break?”

“I'm fine”, the knight mumbled, “I would rather keep going and find Solaire.”

“No, I believe we should rest now. The deeper we advance into the depths, the more dangerous it will get, and a hungry and tired knight is a weak knight.” He let his gaze roam over the surrounding alcoves in the stone walls and finally found one that was not filled with sarcophaguses. “This is probably the most suitable spot”, Faraam said and settled down against the wall of the alcove, taking his leather bag off his back and setting it down in front of him. “Come here”, he beckoned his knight, who reluctantly joined him on the cold stone floor. They ate some more of the underwhelming food, once again joking that it was difficult to tell the dried meat from the bag's leather. Ornstein did not care; at this point, he gladly would have filled his stomach with sand just to stop the ache. They probably are more than they should have, for the bags were half empty when they finally settled down to sleep.

“No Faraam, we talked about this. Someone could see”, Ornstein muttered when Faraam tried to spoon him.

“The dead won't care. Please, Ornstein, it is so _cold_ ”, Faraam grimaced and pulled the knight flush against his chest. Ornstein gave a defeated sigh and accepted his fate. Faraam was right – it really was awfully cold on the floor, as if the very chill of death was permeating the ancient stone. “My armor will not warm you either”, he yawned and closed his eyes, “is it wise for us to sleep at the same time? Should we not take turns keeping vigil?”

“As you know, I have a very light sleep, Ornstein. I will wake as soon as someone approaches. If we took turns sleeping, our rest would take twice as long and I wish to leave this place as soon as possible.”

Ornstein found it quite odd that Faraam would take the risk of being ambushed in his sleep, but then again, it went well with the rest of his reckless behavior. “I must say that I dislike this idea very much, but I admit that I am exhausted”, he mumbled, barely getting the words out as he felt his consciousness slip at a rapid pace, sliding into the realm of dreams.

 

 

 

Ornstein woke from the rustling of chains and the yelling laughter of men. Disoriented, he tried to jump to his feet, but found that his movement was restricted by a net of awfully heavy chains that pinned him to the ground. As if the chain-net itself had not been heavy enough by itself, the edges were lined with huge metal spheres. With a start, he realized that three men were looming over him – the bald man, Sir Gervin and Sir Callaghan. Behind them, five others were standing at a distance and grinning condescendingly. But the thing that startled his sleep addled brain the most was the unholy roar that came from behind him:

“How dare you!”, Faraam roared, “Are you that desperate to lose your filthy lives? I will turn you inside out!”

“Hmm, I cannot decide which one of them looks more like a lion”, Sir Gervin mused, “The small one certainly has the face, but the bigger one has the mane and the voice.”

“Perhaps we can cut them up and combine the parts to get a full lion”, the bald man suggested and earned roaring laughter from the other men.

“You piece of shit!”, Faraam growled, “You are dead men, all of you!”

 

Ornstein wanted to die of shame. He had been caught in an unsavory position, wrapped in the God's arms, and none of them could move enough to do anything about it.

Faraam's hair bristled as stormclouds and flickers of lightning began to form in the alcove, summoning a thunderstorm that already threatened to send the men flying, but Sir Callaghan swiftly stepped forth and raised a heavy metal club, bringing it high above his head and letting it crash down on Faraam's head with brutal force, again and again until the clouds started to dissipate and the God's head was bleeding as he was left on the floor lifelessly. Although Ornstein had struggled and fought tooth and nail against the net, there was nothing he could do to help Faraam. His heart screamed in pain upon seeing the love of his life brutally beaten like this, but without his spear, he could not use any lightning, and their weapons were out of reach. He was just as helpless as he had been when Havel had caught him in a net, and yet he was too proud to beg or hurl empty threats. Instead, he simply glowered at the men from behind his visor, desperately trying to calm his pounding heart. He would show no fear, nor tears; not to the likes of them.

“This is what you get for trying to outsmart the unbreakable Patches”, the bald man snickered. “Seperate them! I wish to have a little talk with the tall one!”

Several hands seized Ornstein and wrestled the helmet from his head, taking a while because of the net. Then Sir Callaghan stepped forth once more and administered the same treatment to the lion knight, beating him into unconsciousness with unrivaled brutality.

 


	13. Chapter 13

A heavy, throbbing pain shot through Ornstein's head and made him grind his teeth. It was dark and he was still unable to move – it took him a while to figure out that he was blindfolded and chained to some sort of pillar, sitting on the ground with his hands tied behind his back. His armor and most of his clothes were gone, but at least they had allowed him to keep his breeches. The sheer intensity of the pain and the weakness he felt now told him that the metal club they had been beaten with had been no ordinary weapon – it had most likely been occult, judging by the devastating effect it had had on Faraam and himself. _The bane of the Gods..._

 

“Aaah, I see you have finished your little nap”, Sir Gervin's jarring voice penetrated his eardrums, “How very fortunate! You were out cold for so long, I feared you would never wake again. Your Master is … _occupied_ with my friends as we speak, so I get to have you all to myself for a little while.”

“Do your worst”, Ornstein scoffed, “I have been tortured before, your efforts will look like childsplay in comparison.”

“But who said I wanted to torture you? I just want to talk... and perhaps, touch you a little. After all, you are one peculiar beast, just like your friend the porcupine.”

Ornstein shivered as he felt Sir Gervin's hands touch his neck and slide down to his shoulderblades, “Interesting. I really do wonder how you managed to fly away when I tried to catch you at the shrine, there are no wings to be seen – not even beneath your skin. So tell me: How did you escape? What kind of monster _are_ you?”

The lion knight remained silent, jutting his chin forward in defiance. “You apparently don't understand. By disobeying me, you will only make it much worse for your friend”, Sir Gervin said.

“Are you telling him the same thing? Neither of us will fall for your little games, puny human. You may be able to kill us, but you can never take our honor”, Ornstein scoffed.

“Oh? So that's what its all about. You need not to worry, I will find a way to make you talk, and you won't have to feel bad about it”, Sir Gervin assured him as he let his hands roam his skin, sliding up again and combing through his hair. “No horns either, how disappointing. Are you by chance really one of the ancient Lords? But no; one of their kind would surely be much more powerful. You have to be something lesser”, the human mocked him and lightly tugged at the taller man's red locks. Ornstein _cursed_ himself, gritting his teeth and deliberately tensing up when he felt his body relax under the touch. The blindfold amplified the sensations to a point where they were difficult to ignore.

 

“See? It isn't so bad, right? I can be nice to you, if you behave. You see... the man who clubbed you unconscious – Sir Callaghan – used to be just like you. He is a monster that looks human on the surface, but that's where it ends. … I tamed him and now he is mine, doing my bidding and enjoying my protection in return.”

“I care not for what he is”, Ornstein growled, appalled by the human's suggestion, “and I will not tell you anything! You are wasting your time, human. If you touch me one more time, you will lose both of your hands. _Cease_ it! Stop touching me!”

He strained against his chains and growled in frustration as Sir Gervin's small hands kept traveling down, across his muscled chest and belly towards the hem of his breeches.

 

Once he realized where this was going, a silent tear rolled down Ornstein's cheek, but it was absorbed by the blindfold before it could be seen. _Not again, oh please not again_. Grievous memories raised their ugly heads and took advantage of his lack of sight, replaying the scenes in front of his eyes, but he managed to chase them away by imagining Faraam's face; the unyielding storm in his gray eyes. He returned to his unmoving, silent display of defiance, not twitching a muscle as Sir Gervin's hands slipped into his underwear and wrapped around his dick.

“Shit. Everything about you is large, it seems”, the human smirked and gave it a few strokes, “now come on, I know you swing that way. I've seen you in that porcupine's embrace.” Ornstein had an idea. It went against his pride, but he hated this man so much that he just wanted to kill him, no matter the cost.

“...if you want me like this, you will have to kiss me first”, he mumbled, hating himself for not holding vigil against Faraam's wishes.

“Where does that suddenly come from? Do you have poisonous fangs, by chance?”, Sir Gervin asked and forced Ornstein to open his mouth. “hm... disappointing. You really look like a human, only taller.”

“Are you a bad kisser? If so, I will never submit to you”, Ornstein replied mechanically, banning all emotion from his voice.

“Me? A bad kisser? I have kissed ladies between their legs and made them praise the Gods!”, Sir Gervin laughed his dirty laugh, “But if you insist, I will prove it to you.”

 

The man was obviously not very smart, falling for the trick that easily.

Ornstein was very still as the small human stood up in front of him on his tiptoes and took his face in his hands. But as soon as his lips started to brush Ornstein's, the lion knight swiftly twisted his head and sunk his teeth into the throat of the human, biting down as hard as he could and shaking the smaller man viciously. A number of disgusting cracks could be heard, signaling the breaking of vertebrae as Sir Gervin was flung from side to side, screaming his silent death scream with his throat still clamped shut. Ornstein could feel blood seep into his mouth, but he didn't let go. Instead, he twisted his head backwards so the dying human was dangling behind his shoulders, enabling him to touch him with his bound hands. _Please have the key_ , he thought and let his hands roam the fresh corpse. His heart started to beat faster when his fingers finally detected the keyring on the man's belt. His hands trembled with anticipation and he almost dropped it, but finally managed to position the keyring in front of the lock, testing the keys one after another. To his delight, the third key fit, and he strained his hands to turn it in the lock. After what felt like ages, the lock opened and the chains came loose. Ornstein shook them off and ripped off the blindfold, staggering to his feet and finally dropping the bloody corpse, spitting out the warm blood that had accumulated in his mouth.

He found himself in a small room that was lined with stacked sarcophaguses and pillars to stabilize the vault above, but the stone was different: Before he had fallen unconscious, the stone ground and walls had been a sandy, yellowish color, but now it was a cold, dark gray – almost black. The humans had apparently dragged them off to some other, most likely deeper dungeon. His spear and armor were nowhere to be seen. With a frown, he made a fist around the keyring, letting the keys jut out from in between his fingers to have at least _some_ kind of weapon. _Oh Faraam, you blasted fool! A fine light sleeper you are!_ , he thought grimly as he sneaked out of the room and entered the long, narrow corridor that led away from it. Voices could be heard from the large hall to his left, and the flickering light of a fire illuminated the door. _They are making a fire in the catacombs? Do they wish to asphyxiate? They are so witless, it is so utterly shameful we have been caught by them!_

 

Ornstein leaned on the wall and listened to the voices, finally daring to peek around the corner. The men were sitting around a campfire, laughing and drinking, but there was no trace of Faraam. The bald man – Patches – was describing an event in which he had kicked an overweight cleric off a cliff, earning roaring laughter from the other men. A pile of treasure surrounded them, ranging from trinkets and weapons to old paintings and chests filled with gems, and there was Ornstein's armor lying on a heap of other armor that looked like it had been accumulated over a long time. But he would not risk fighting these men without his spear; he had to find Faraam first and come back later to get his armor. The hall only had one door, so Ornstein retraced his steps and went the other direction, passing the room he had been imprisoned in. The corridor forked several times and just as he was starting to worry how he should find Faraam in this maze, an earth shattering scream made him snap his head to the right. He knew that voice too well.

He followed the rightmost corridor in a slow jog, his steps nimble and silent without his armor. When he reached the room on the other side, his heart skipped a beat: It was a large, square room that was illuminated by torches on the walls. Skeletons and fresh corpses were hanging from the ceiling by the dozens, tied at the wrists and swaying lightly in a non existent breeze. The ground sloped down towards the center of the room, forming a shallow basin filled with water and scattered bones. If the sight of the room had already been eerie, the figure that loomed over a table on the other side of the basin was downright unsettling: A shrouded, malformed _thing_ with six arms was busily tinkering with a body that was strapped to the table, illuminating it with a set of lanterns that were suspended by sticks jutting out of the creature's body. Or were they held by the arms? It was hard to tell. Ornstein sneaked into the room, his dread growing with every step when he finally recognized the body on the table:

It was Faraam. There were metal hooks embedded in his skin, holding his chest cavity wide open, and he was bound by countless leatherstraps, blindfolded and gagged. Blood was dripping off of the table in a steady rhythm, flowing into the basin and tinging it red. The rage that took over the lion knight's heart was unparalleled; the air around him grew cold and suddenly it felt as if he was watching himself from a distance, calmly approaching the creature with the keyring in hand that now crackled with lightning. _But I cannot use lightning without my imbued spear,_ he thought and watched himself raise his fist and charge the mummed creature. It wheeled around and stared at him with his three masked heads, making unintelligible noises as the keys approached it at the speed of lightning. The creature tried to lift it's six arms to cast some spell, but the enraged Ornstein outsped it and viciously rammed the keys into it's faces, again and again until the masks cracked, until the skin tore, until the muscle was ripped off and the skulls shattered. There was blood everywhere, an eyeball flew past and lightning scorched the now lifeless body.

 

Ornstein took his gaze off his own body that still battered away at the necromancer and approached the table with shaking hands. It could not be! “F-faraam... please, no...” he whispered and touched the bleeding corpse with shaky hands. It was still warm.

Ornstein realized that he could have saved him, had he only woken a little earlier, killed Sir Gervin a little faster, had not spent as much time observing the men at the campfire. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was back in his body again, kneeling in front of the dead necromancer. His Faraam, his beautiful, strong and kind Faraam with the ridiculous hair and the sunny smile... was _dead_. A God of war, killed by a small group of bandits and one lousy necromancer.

_No!_ He ran over to the table and tore the metal hooks out of the God's skin, untied him in a frenzy and tore off the blindfold to look into his eyes, but the gray skies were empty. He carefully removed the metal tools from the chest cavity and pressed the ribs back into place, tugging the skin over it and pressing his hands down on the gaping wound, casting the most powerful healing miracle he knew.

It was a miracle that consisted of an ancient tale; the merciful sunlight of Gwynivere that had soothed entire armies. He poured every ounce of his power and will into the spell, clenching his teeth and hoping, _praying_ that it would work.

But when he finally dared to look down at Faraam, his eyes were still as lifeless as they had been before. His face looked so confused, so _lost_.

Ornstein broke down over the body and sobbed, feeling his heart and soul break into a million little shards that cut into his insides and made him bleed, stinging like needles. This was it; now there was no reason to stay alive, nothing to come home to. Faraam had been his everything, he had shaped his whole life from the lion knight's very youth.

 

A warm hand settled on his shoulder and he leaned into the touch, desperate for comfort. “Now now, Ornstein, don't cry”, Faraam whispered into his ear, and Ornstein sobbed even harder. _This is so cruel. This cannot be happening, it can't_ , he thought as he turned around and looked at the God who smiled down at him sadly.

“I-I'm so sorry, Faraam, I tried-”, he chocked, trying to get some control over his voice.

“I know. It's not your fault, I am entirely to blame for this. You must get out of here, they are coming back”, he whispered into his knights ear, but Ornstein viciously shook his head.

“I will tear them to pieces!”, he growled. He then raised his keys above the God's body and looked at Faraam for permission, who slowly nodded at him.

With a yell, Ornstein plunged the keys into the corpse and there was an explosion of lightning as Faraam's soul came to him willingly, joining him in his body like a weary traveler coming home. The Faraam on the table dissolved into a fine mist as the soul left his body for good.

 

“You! What do you think you are doing?”, Patches yelled angrily and pointed at him with his spear. Ornstein turned around very slowly and regarded the bald man and his comrades with a glare that could kill. “How dare you. He was a God! The greatest of them all!”, he roared and charged the men without warning, but they looked in amused disbelief at the half naked man with the keyring who charged a group of armed warriors. Their amusement turned to dread, however, as soon as they realized the sheer ferocity of his attacks. He went berserk on the men and destroyed them in a similar fashion as the necromancer, uncaring about any injuries of his own. The fight was over in seconds and Ornstein and his surroundings were soon painted with the blood and innards of the men. Only Sir Callaghan had been absent, but Ornstein found that he did not care.

A weird calmness befell him, then, and he slowly went to fetch his armor, putting it on and gathering their bags and weapons. When he was done, he emptied one of the bags and tucked Faraam's equipment into it, unwilling to leave anything of the God behind.

“We can leave now. Are you ready?”, he asked into the empty air and marched into the maze once more without waiting for an answer – he knew he wouldn't get one. He remembered the countless times Faraam had tried to hug him lately, and every time Ornstein had turned him away out of shame. What a fool he had been; As if someone could ever be ashamed of being seen in the arms of the greatest of all Gods. He was endlessly grateful for the fact that he had spent the night in his embrace, at least.

Ornstein didn't know where the countless hallways were leading him and he didn't care – he would find Solaire if he just kept walking, he was sure of it. To his surprise, it did not take long until the brick-built corridor gave way to a vast, pitch black space. “The tomb of the giants. I suggest you watch your step and turn left when you see the fiery glow”, Faraam said, but he was nowhere to be seen when Ornstein tried to look at him.

 

“What- Faraam, are you there?”, he asked and turned his head in all directions. He was unsure of what was happening. Was the Soul of Faraam speaking to him? Was it a figment of his imagination, a desperate attempt of his brain to cope with the death of the person dearest to him? Ornstein waited for an answer, but none came. He wanted to die, wanted to kill himself for he couldn't bear life without Faraam, but he knew that the God would be very disappointed in him if he did. And he owed it to Solaire to find him and tell him the truth, at least. With a sigh, he resumed his walk into the darkness, listlessly climbing over sarcophaguses and rocks. Enormous skeletons charged him out of the blackness, but he effortlessly danced out of their reach and jumped into the empty space, uncaring if he would fall. But for some reason, he always landed on solid ground, never plummeting to his demise. Time stretched endlessly as he climbed, jumped, walked and climbed again, all in complete darkness. He took no breaks, he had to keep walking to keep his grief from catching up with him, for he knew that if he were to stop now, he would never find the will to start walking again. Soon, the environment got brighter somehow – a reddish, warm glow covered the dark rock and the mortal remains of the giants that were scattered everywhere. After rounding a particularly large rock, he had to shield his eyes from the light: A fiery cavern could be seen in the distance, like a burning window in the dark rock, like a sun in the nightsky. _Turn left when you see the fiery glow.This must be the domain of the Witch,_ he thought. 

 

This had to be it. Without wasting any time, Ornstein dashed towards the light, jumping across ravines and skeletons alike. Soon, he reached the burning cavern that consisted of a lava lake, glowing rock and the unmistakable chaos roots of Izalith.

After another seemingly endless walk across the burning valleys of Izalith, he suddenly spotted a person in the distance, sitting in front of a bonfire. The person looked small and hunched over, but as he came closer he realized with a racing heart that this person was wearing a bucket helmet, chain armor and a sun emblem on his chest and shield. “Solaire! Solaaaaire!”, he yelled and came running towards the poor, startled man like a maniac. Solaire appeared to be spooked and jumped to his feet, but when he recognized the golden lion armor he seemed to relax a little. But he still did not lower his sword.

 

“Oh, Solaire I have been searching for you everywhere!”, Ornstein panted and took off his helmet to catch his breath.

“...did you not kill me when we last met, Sir Ornstein? What do you want?”, Solaire asked with obvious aloofness in his voice. Ornstein fell to his knees and bowed in front of the sun knight, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“I am so sorry, Solaire, I mistook you for one of Gwyndolin's illusions! When I realized my mistake, I tried to heal you, but it was too late! Please forgive me”, he exclaimed.

Solaire tilted his head in confusion. When Ornstein didn't budge, he carefully lowered himself and placed a hand on the lion knight's shoulder.

“I choose to believe you, Sir Ornstein, and I forgive you. Please, get up”, he said.

“Oh thank you, Solaire. Your heart is truly made of gold”, Ornstein sighed and sat up again, joining Solaire at the bonfire. The sun knight took off his helmet as well and looked at him.

“...if you don't mind me asking – where is your Master, Sir Ornstein? Did he come as well?”, Solaire asked hopefully.

Ornstein's breath hitched. “I...don't know how to tell you this, but – we were looking for you together, traveling through the catacombs to find you down here.” He took a deep breath. “Lord Faraam is dead. We were ambushed and there was nothing I could do to protect him! I failed, I am so sorry, Solaire. I robbed you of the chance to ever talk to him and now it is too late”, he mumbled with a crestfallen expression.

 

Solaire stared at him for a long time. “He... is dead?”, he asked, obviously hoping to have misheard. Ornstein nodded and stared into the bonfire.

Solaire slowly turned his head away and stared into the fire as well. “But why? How can such a powerful man simply be killed? And who would do such a thing? He has done so much good, he has given us so much _hope_ -” Solaire's voice broke and he was unable to keep his face from distorting, quickly covering it with his hands instead. Ornstein's heart broke for the second time today. He wrapped his arms around Solaire and pulled the small human into a hug, gently petting his back as the sun knight sobbed into his chest without restraint. He cried for a very long time, and it hurt _so much_ to see him like this, but when he finally stopped, Ornstein wanted the precious seconds back before he had seen Solaire's new face – a face barren of hope, with dim, unhappy eyes. The sun had set.

 

Trying to distract him, he asked: “Solaire... I expected to find your summoning sign down here, but not you in person. What are you even doing here? I thought you knew that the plan to link the fire was just a deception.”

“This is the only place where large numbers of sunlight warriors are to be found nowadays”, Solaire answered without missing a beat, “so I came here, hoping to find your summoning signs once again. Hoping to see _him_ again. But it seems there is no point in waiting any longer.”

Ornstein did not wish to leave him like this. “You could come with me”, he suggested, “to Lord Faraam's home. He is living – _lived_ – on top of a mountain, in a shrine dedicated to dragons. The sun is always shining there”, he said, but he was unsure if this would still be so after the God's death.

Solaire shook his head. “There is but one thing left for me to do. The sun is burning out, and the second sun has been killed. I will be the third and final sun to keep this world from falling to the darkness. I will link the fire.”

“No, Solaire! Faraam would not want this! Please, I understand that you are grieving, but the flame has been linked so often that doing it again would only prolong the suffering, your sacrifice would be pointless!”, Ornstein exclaimed, “Just come with me, I will show you where he lived and tell you everything about him.”

“Even if I can bring one more sunrise to this world, it will be worth it”, Solaire muttered, his voice empty and emotionless, “Farewell, Sir Ornstein. I regret not having met you under more favorable circumstances. We could have been friends.”

With these words, Solaire took his sword and helmet and got to his feet, nodding his farewell at Ornstein with a half hearted smile before walking off into the distance with a slouch to his posture, evidence of his unending grief.

 

Ornstein watched him leave with a heavy heart. He knew that following the knight would be pointless; Solaire had made his decision, and the wish to link the fire was most likely the only thing keeping him from going hollow now. Even if he took the sun knight with him by force, he would most likely lose his sanity very soon. He probably hated Ornstein for everything he had done, and rightfully so. Now that he had reached his goal, Ornstein felt a little hollow himself, somewhat indifferent. With a groan, the lion knight got up from the bonfire. “Time to go home”, he mumbled and walked in the opposite direction from Solaire. He did not take the same way back, but instead followed the slope of the hill until he reached a tunnel that led to a room covered in spiderwebs. As he listlessly stalked through the disgusting place, carrying his lion helmet under one arm, the shadow of a huge creature fell on him.

 

“Sir Ornstein? What are you doing here?”, Quelaag asked incredulously. “I almost attacked you!”

“Greetings, daughter of Chaos. It has been a long time. I – lost my Master and now I wish to go home”, he muttered, lacking the will to elaborate any further than this. Quelaag looked at him as if he had gone insane. “...you wish to return to Anor Londo, I take it?”, she asked, but Ornstein shook his head. “I just need to reach the surface. Then, I will surely find my way.”

She cast him a pitying look and bent her enormous spider body down to place a hand on his shoulder. “Follow me, Sir Ornstein, I will show you a secret shortcut”, she smiled at him and gently led him along by the shoulder as if she was helping an old person across a street full of horses and carriages. They ascended the stairs to some sort of dome, where Quelaag gently shoved him so he was standing on a circular platform. Normally he would have been very interested to meet a daughter of chaos after such a long time, but now he found that he did not care at all. He did not ask about her situation or her sisters.

“...Sir Ornstein, I do not wish to insult you, but you look rather hollow. If there is anything else we can do for you, please tell me. After all, your Lord and our dear mother were always on good terms... at least, before _it_ happened.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Quelaag. But your concern is misplaced; only humans can go hollow”, he smiled at her and bowed in farewell. She looked like she wanted to correct him, but apparently changed her mind. “Take care, Sir Ornstein”, she said and patted his shoulder one last time. Then, she raised her arms to cast a spell and the platform was raised into the air, disappearing into a tunnel that apparently led to the surface. _If we had known of this tunnel, Faraam would still be alive_ , Ornstein thought.

When the platform had reached the surface, Ornstein jumped off and watched as it disappeared into the depths once more. He could not face Nohro like this. He had promised to keep Faraam safe and had failed; she would never forgive him. With a grunt, he searched the sky to get an idea of the cardinal directions and then began his long walk home, back to archdragon peak. Soon, he started to forget where he had come from, his memory slipping with every step he took until he was moving through a blur of dead cities, monsters and cursed forests. At some point, he dropped his bags and immediately forgot about them, simply shuffling onward to the mountains he imagined in the distance.

 

 

 

 

\--☼--

 

 

The wind howled and whipped across the rocky landscape, bringing with it sand and occasionally snow from the mountaintops. Ornstein grunted as a particularly strong gust almost pushed him over the edge of the narrow stairs that someone had carved into the mountain. He caught his balance with some effort and continued the steep climb, his plume rippling behind him like a red eel in the beaming afternoon sun that somehow seemed to shine brighter than he would have thought possible in this day and age. The ascent was arduous and Ornstein was not sure if any sane man would even attempt this journey, but then again sane men were less and less likely to be found as the fire continued to fade.

And this truly was his last hope. He had to find _him_. As his tired muscles pushed the lion knight upwards step by step, he recalled all of his fond memories of Gwyn's firstborn son, memories he secretly always had treasured, despite being ordered to forget.

A soft and sad voice inside of his mind whispered that these were pretty much the last good memories he had had. After Gwynsen had left, everything had slowly gone to hell. Now everything Ornstein knew and held dear was gone, either killed, corrupted by the Abyss or straight out vanished from the surface of the world. Their once proud empire was no more, Anor Londo was reduced to ruins and hollows swarmed the lands like ants. His dear friends and fellow knights, Artorias, Gough and Ciaran, gone and never to be seen again. He halted. Did he even know what had happened to them? Ornstein suddenly wasn't sure, for some reason he could not remember. There were so many things he could not remember, it was as if his life had been reduced to a shell of it's former self. _Oh well_ , he mused as he continued walking, _this must be what it feels like to go hollow_.

The stairs took a turn, and after climbing over a couple of particularly worn steps that were hardly discernible anymore, Ornstein hauled himself up a ledge and fell to his knees in exhaustion and awe at what he saw next: He found himself on a plateau that held what appeared to be a gigantic temple with lofty arches and strange architecture, unlike anything he had ever seen before – or had he? It looked oddly familiar!

As he ascended the wide stairs that led to the temples open gates, Ornstein suddenly felt nervous: There was something unsettling about this place, it was like he had one Deja-vu after another. Whenever he discovered a new part of the temple grounds, he felt like already knowing it, having known it for ages. When he entered a particularly striking building and his eyes got used to the change of lighting, he observed with growing dread the figures sitting in each corner, on every wall, filling almost the entire room. They looked like humanoid dragons who appeared to be meditating, but something was wrong. They were not moving, not even breathing. Slowly and carefully, Ornstein took off his gauntlet and touched one of the figures horns.

 

“If you touch them some more, they might just bite your fingers off”, an amused voice proclaimed. And suddenly Ornstein felt petrified himself, even holding his breath as he slowly turned around in what felt like ages. There he stood, right in front of him: Faraam, alive and breathing, and Ornstein could not hold himself back: He dropped his spear and flung himself at the God who looked a little confused, but quickly caught him and spun him around while laughing in joy. “Careful there. I don't know why, but I knew you would come!”, Faraam exclaimed. _But wait – why is his name Faraam?_ Ornstein was pretty sure that the God's name had always been 'Gwynsen'. “...Faraam?”, he addressed the other man carefully, and indeed: the God narrowed his eyes at him. “How do you know my new name, Ornstein? Are you hiding something from me? And where is my damned title?”, he grinned, but when Ornstein's face took on a look of concern, he ruffled his plume and said: “I am merely joking. I no longer have need for titles and the likes. But now, we should draw you a nice bath, you smell awful! I don't even want to look beneath that armor of yours, something is telling me that you didn't take it off for decades.”

Instead of being ashamed, Ornstein smiled and playfully shoved him. “I'm smelling so bad because I roamed the world for decades just to find you, you big oaf! You don't get to criticize me for it.” Faraam looked at him slack jawed, but quickly regained his composure and broke out into roaring laughter that could probably be heard miles away.

 

 

 

 

From that day on, Ornstein had stayed with Faraam. He had gotten to know the man's dragons – albeit with some difficulty – made some friends among them and found out that his feelings for the God were far greater than friendship. They had meddled in the civil war of a kingdom called 'Lothric', had helped the knights of Faraam's covenant beat a monster from the Abyss and successfully defended themselves and their home against Havel the Rock and his men. When battles and wars grew rarer every day, they resorted to letting themselves be summoned by the sunlight warriors, helping them with whatever small issues they had. On one such occasion, they had been summoned to Anor Londo by Knight Solaire and helped him to defeat an illusionary Ornstein and executioner Smough. Ornstein had accidentally killed Solaire in the subsequent fight against Gwyndolin, and Faraam had _almost_ been killed by the avenging Darkmoon Blades.

 

 

Now, they were traveling the catacombs to search for Solaire, after a sunlight warrior in Catarina armor had told Ornstein that the newest activity hubs of the covenant lay down below.

“I cannot shake the feeling that we have done all of this before”, Ornstein huffed as they traversed the countless caves and corridors of the catacombs. “Done what?”, Faraam asked. Ornstein let his gaze roam across the sandy stones and the stacked sarcophaguses.

“I am not sure. It just feels oddly familiar, even though I have never been here before”, the knight mused.

“You are saying that awfully often lately”, Faraam frowned, “I'm starting to worry. Are you sick?” The knight grumbled and did not answer.

After many hours of walking, Ornstein felt his stomach churn and his legs grow tired. He tried to hide it, but Faraam had already noticed.

“We should take a break, you look awfully tired”, the God said and began to search for a suitable spot to rest. He finally found an alcove that was not filled to the brim with stacked sarcophaguses. “This will do”, he said and sat down in the alcove, “come here, Ornstein.”

 

The knight was suddenly befallen by dread; His heart started to pound in his chest and he began to feel sick. “Faraam.... I think we have been here before and something dreadful happened when we rested here. Let us keep walking, I beg you!”, he cried out, grabbing Faraam's arm and trying to pull him along.

“What has gotten into you, Ornstein? Neither of us has been here before and there is nothing dangerous in here but a few skeletons, there is no need to be afraid”, the God frowned and refused to get up. Ornstein was not strong enough to pull him to his feet, no matter how hard he tried.

“Please, Faraam! Just trust me this once, we really shouldn't stay here!”

 

Faraam grabbed Ornstein and dragged him down to sit on his lap, holding him in a tight embrace as he struggled to get free. “A hungry and tired knight is a weak knight. We will rest now, it will only get more dangerous the further we journey below the surface. Calm down!”

Ornstein realized that his efforts were pointless. Faraam had put it in his thick skull that they would rest here, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“...fine then. But we will take turns holding vigil, I will not be ambushed in my sleep!”, the knight declared. Faraam huffed and shook his head at him. “I don't understand what madness has suddenly befallen you. Since when are you so _scared_? I have a very light sleep, there is no need to-”

Ornstein slapped him then – harder than intended, for he was wearing metal gauntlets – the sound echoing loudly in the alcove and the long hallway. He remembered everything.

 

“...are you out of your MIND?!”, Faraam yelled and shook the knight by his shoulders, forcefully taking off his lion helmet and pressing his palm to Ornstein's forehead, checking for a fever. “Your temperature is normal, which means that you are either losing your mind, or you are keeping something from me! What is it that makes you so afraid?!”

“I...remember now”, Ornstein mumbled, his green eyes staring straight ahead as his brain was flooded with memories, “We have been here before, resting in this very alcove. You insisted that both of us shall rest at the same time, leading to us being ambushed in our sleep by the bald man and some knights I met at Firelink Shrine. They caught us with a chain net and had you disemboweled and flayed alive by a necromancer. You... you _perished_. I claimed your soul and ventured deeper underground, and I found Solaire! Word of your death robbed him of his will to live and he went to link the fire – I was unable to stop him, so I traveled back to archdragon peak where I met _you,_ and then we did everything _again_ and ended up here – like in a cycle ”, Ornstein stammered, equally surprised by the words that came out of his mouth. But as soon as he had finished talking, it dawned on him and he felt ashamed for not having noticed earlier.

 

Faraam stared at him for a long time, apparently coming to the same conclusion as Ornstein. “.....I am such a fool”, the God finally groaned and covered his face in his hands, “Now I understand! Somebody must have linked the fire while you were traveling back to archdragon peak, resetting the world to the point when you were traveling there for the very first time. I hope it was not Solaire!”

“Why? Wouldn't Solaire be in the same place now where I met him before?”, Ornstein asked, confused.

“No. Whoever links the fire is removed from the cycle, staying inside the flame as fuel. If they would simply reset to their position as well, it wouldn't be a problem to link the flame forever, right? My Lord Father could have simply sacrificed himself each time the flame began to fade, and be restored to his original form when the cycle was reset. But he never returned, no one did; the ashes accumulate in the kiln. This means: If Solaire really managed to link the fire, he is gone, forever. I hope some other undead beat him to it”, Faraam grunted with a scowl.

“But why do I have memories of the last cycle and you don't?”, the knight asked.

“Apparently I died in the last cycle and was recreated at the point of reset. But you were still alive when it happened, you were simply relocated in time. Your memory suffered from it, and yet you did not entirely _forget_ what happened before”, Faraam explained.

Ornstein was developing a headache. This was awfully complicated. He had lived through several linkings of the fire – most likely more than he was even aware of – but the changes they brought about, how ever big they might have been, had always arrived in a subtle manner and had been hard to notice. It felt like trying to remember a forgotten dream that had felt real, but now evaded the mind like a ghost.

 

“Alright, let's assume it is as you say. Now that you know the truth, you will certainly agree to keep moving, right?”, Ornstein asked hopefully.

“No”, Faraam said and stuck his nose up in the air. Ornstein's jaw dropped to the floor.

“ _What_?! Why? Are you-”

“Whoever dared to kill me in the last cycle will pay!”, the God interrupted him, “And what easier way to find them than to simply wait here? I may be unable to kill them permanently, but I will make their deaths so very painful that they will not dare to even _look_ in our general direction ever again.”

 

He smiled and kissed the dumbfounded knight on the tip of his nose. “You are obviously far more tired than I am, so you may sleep first”, Faraam declared and patted his thigh. Ornstein wondered if this was really such a good idea. With Sir Gervin, Patches, Sir Callaghan and the five others, their enemies had been a group of eight. But it was probably safer to expect them here than to journey on and be attacked when they did not expect it. The catacombs were dark and confusing and presented many opportunities for an ambush.

“...if you insist.”, he sighed, “But we must be careful. They are equipped with occult weapons and if Sir Gervin told the truth, his companion Sir Callaghan is not human; I have no idea _what_ he is for he disappeared before I could fight him. Sir Gervin just said that he was a monster. You will recognize him by his green tabard and blunt weapons.”

Faraam thought about it and nodded. “Sleep now. I will wake you if I see anything unusual.”

With some hesitation, Ornstein curled up next to Faraam and used his bag as a pillow. He looked at him one last time, etching the reassuring smile on the God's face into his mind before closing his eyes to ward off his nightmares.

 

After a while, he woke up by himself, yawning and sitting up. “How long did I sleep for?”, he asked Faraam who was still sitting in the same position as before.

“Hard to tell without any daylight, but I would guess that you slept for approximately three hours”, Faraam said, scrunching up his nose and chewing some of the leathery meat they had taken with them. “Are you sure you are rested? I don't feel all that tired myself, you may sleep for another hour if you wish to.”

“No, this will suffice. You need to rest as well to be prepared for the attack – how did you say? A tired God is a weak God. I will watch over you as you sleep”, the knight parroted him.

“You are making an awfully big fuss about these humans. You _know_ they won't stand a chance against me”, Faraam frowned, but he laid himself down nonetheless.

“Faraam, they _killed_ you because I was foolish enough to have faith in you to be a _light_ _sleeper_ ”, Ornstein rolled his eyes.

“You know I normally am! I must have been _exhausted_ if they managed to sneak up on me like that”, he pouted, “.....Ornstein?”

“...yes?”

“May I rest my head on your lap, please? It is so cold on the floor, and I do not wish to squash the contents of my bag. My head is much bigger than yours”, he lamented.

 

As so often, the snarling lion visor conveyed exactly the emotion that Ornstein felt right now. But the shock of losing Faraam had made itself at home deep in his bones and stayed with him over all the time that had passed since. If the God, in his infinite foolhardiness, would manage to get himself killed once again, the knight would loathe having denied him this final comfort.

“If the cold metal of my armor will be more comfortable to you than a soft leather bag, go ahead. But make sure not to drool on me, please”, he muttered.

Faraam just winked at him and placed his huge head on the knight's lap, looking up at him with fondness in his eyes.

“Be sure to wake me when they attack. I would hate to miss out on the fun”, he said and closed his eyes, taking a deep, content breath before falling completely silent.

 

Ornstein sat there in the alcove and watched as Faraam's breathing grew more slow and even and his face relaxed as he fell asleep. There was a nasty bruise on his cheek, where Ornstein had slapped him with his metal clad hand. He carefully placed a hand on Faraam's wild hair and started to pet it softly, mindful not to wake him. They would be fine – Ornstein had been able to defeat the humans all by himself in the last cycle; they would not stand a chance against them. Shuddering in disgust, he remembered Sir Gervin's inappropriate touch and promptly decided that he was to have the most painful death. He hated the man. With his right hand, he reached into his bag and grabbed some of the disgusting meat strips, shoving them through his visor into his mouth while petting Faraam's hair with his left. To his chagrin, Faraam started drooling after a while, as he so often did in his sleep, but waking him now would be unwise; Although the God had denied being tired, Ornstein knew him well enough to know that if he managed to fall asleep in mere seconds, he had to be rather weary. After sitting there for a few hours, he began to ask himself if the humans would even show up, but finally he could hear steps in the distance. He wasted no time and gripped Faraam's shoulder, shaking him awake.

“Faraam, they are coming! Wake up”, he hissed.

The God opened one eye and looked at him. “Already? I was heaving such a nice dream. You would have liked it too, Ornstein, for you played a crucial part in it”, he yawned and got up from the floor. They kicked their bags as far into the corner as they would go and readied their spears, hiding behind the corner of the alcove.

 

The steps grew louder and the faint murmur of a conversation could be heard. Faraam winked at Ornstein once more and beat his fist into his palm, indicating his desire to break some bones.

“...and then that nasty cleric spilled his own guts all over the treasure, but the face he made was the greatest treasure of them all! Priceless, I say!” It was Patches, Ornstein recognized the voice. Faraam stepped out of the alcove and blocked the way, his knight following him. They came face to face with Patches and Sir Callaghan, who both carried bags that looked like they had been stolen from someone much fancier than them.

“Well well, I am surprised to find that you survived your little fight with the demon, rat!”, Faraam smirked with cold bloodlust in his eyes, “But this tunnel will be the grave of both of you. Prepare to die!”, he growled and lifted his spear. Patches looked genuinely scared, but seemed to understand that begging for mercy would not save him this time.

Sir Callaghan's eyes flickered in an eerie shade of red for a second, so briefly that Ornstein was not sure if he had imagined it, but the man's teeth that were exposed in his smile told him that he had not: They were long, thin and reddish, like evenly spaced pencils jutting out of an otherwise normal jaw. He took his occult metal club in hand and grinned at Faraam, beckoning him with a wave of his hand – _come and get me_.

Faraam seemed to be happy about the challenge and charged the two men with an enthusiasm befitting of a God of War, focusing on Sir Callaghan who kept jumping backwards to dodge the jabs of the swordspear. Ornstein went for Patches, who tried to help Sir Callaghan but now came face to face with the lion knight.

 

“You rat”, Ornstein growled, “you will pay for what you have done!”

“For what I-? I haven't done anything! _I_ am the victim here!”, Patches yelled and tried to hide behind his shield as Ornstein's spear descended upon him like a striking cobra, stabbing and slashing at such a fast pace that he had not a chance to counter attack and was thrown off balance repeatedly. Patches was right, he had not done anything - _yet_. Ornstein would not five him the chance to try.

A particularly strong stab embedded the tip of the spear in the shield, mere inches from the bald man's face, and when patches tried to pull it back, the shield split in half. Now defenseless, the bald man cast the shield aside and gripped into his pocket, surprising Ornstein with a firebomb to gain some distance on him, but the lion knight charged right through it and impaled Patches on his spear.

“Do not kill him yet, Ornstein! He's mine!”, Faraam's voice came from somewhere in the tunnel.

“Too late!”, Ornstein called back and lifted the man on his spear. Patches slid down on it until the cross stopped him, gurgling and coughing blood. As Ornstein looked into his eyes, he even felt a little sorry for him. “You poor sod, your life must have been miserable to turn you into such a vile creature. I know this will not kill you permanently, so mark my words: If I ever catch you coming my way again – or my Master's – your death will be so horrible, it will be talked about for years to come!” With this final warning, he charged his spear and electrocuted the bald man, carelessly hauling the charred corpse aside.

 

He was alone in the tunnel – blasted Faraam had given chase to Sir Callaghan and run off to Gwyn knows where. “Faraam? Where are you?”, he called into the emptiness, running into the direction the God had disappeared in. To his surprise, he found the two of them casually leaning against a wall and talking. When Sir Callaghan spotted him, he assumed a defensive position, readying his occult club, but Faraam placed a hand on his wrist and gently made him lower his weapon once more.

“....what is going on here? Why are you not fighting him?”, Ornstein asked slack-jawed, regarding the man with the flickering red eyes with suspicion.

Faraam walked over to him and said: “This man was enslaved by one who fancies himself a monster hunter, a so called _Sir Gervin_. He is forcing him to do his bidding, controlling him with an old artifact. As you know, I will not stand for slavery and therefore have agreed to break Sir Callaghan's shackles.”

“Why must you always fraternize with your enemies?”, Ornstein hissed, but he could see why Sir Callaghan wished to escape. He could only imagine what Sir Gervin made him do. With a shudder, he turned to Sir Callaghan who eyed him with undisguised curiosity. “Well then. Sir Callaghan”, Ornstein began, “I despise your master and will aid in your liberation if you promise to never again raise your weapon against us.”

Sir Callaghan bit his lower lip, showing the tips of his weird teeth. “I can not make such promises as long as my master holds control over me, neither can I run from him. As soon as he gives me an order, my hand will be forced.” A sad sparkle crossed his eyes that now looked completely normal again. “But to prove my good intentions, I can tell you that I was well aware of where you had fled to in the shrine. I have seen the both of you hiding on the platform and in the trees, yet I did not alert my master. Please”, he whispered, “ please help me.”

 

“We will”, Faraam assured him, “and you will help us by telling us where to find your master.” Sir Callaghan nodded and explained the way, shedding light on the maze of tunnels until the two of them had a general idea of where to go.

“I will stay back. He would surely force me to attack you”, he said.

“Let us go, Ornstein. I can't wait to break this man's legs”, Faraam smirked and gave a lazy wave to Sir Callaghan who remained in the shadows, hiding out like a scared cat.

 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Faraam's smirk faded instantly and was replaced with sorrow as he pulled a confused Ornstein into a tight hug, “I am so sorry”, he whispered, “he told me what Sir Gervin did to you, that he took you to a room and sent everyone else away. Is it true? Did he really-”

“No”, Ornstein declared and scrunched up his nose, “as soon as he began to touch me, I tore out his throat with my very teeth. He did not _get_ to do anything.”

“Thank goodness”; Faraam breathed in relief, “I never would have forgiven myself if he did.”

“It's fine. Let's kill the lot already, before they notice that Patches and our friend are not coming back”, Ornstein suggested and patted Faraam's back before starting to walk again.

He wondered how Sir Callaghan was able to remember the events that had taken place in the last cycle, but then again, he had been miraculously absent during Ornstein's killing spree and had most likely survived, therefore retaining his memory.

 

They followed the path the man had described to them, sneaking around the corners until they finally found the hall with the campfire. The men, among them Sir Gervin, were drinking and playing cards, not suspecting a thing. Faraam boldly stepped into the doorway and walked into the hall in a slow, relaxed pace, waiting for the men to spot him.

Ornstein followed close behind him. When one of the men finally let his gaze wander across the room, he did a double take and shoved the comrades to his left and right without taking his eyes off the God. “Hey! What the-” one of the shoved men complained, but when he looked into Faraam's direction the words got stuck in his throat.

“Which one of you is Sir Gervin?”, Faraam asked with a cold voice. The man in the balder armor visibly flinched and drew his weapon. “Who wants to know, monster?”, he hissed, “you have dug your own grave, coming here! I will make a nice rug out of your hide!” The other men drew their weapons as well and put on their helmets, and Faraam allowed them the time, apparently feeling so superior that he did not need to rely on surprise attacks. Only when they were fully equipped and standing before him with drawn weapons did he raise his swordspear. Stormclouds filled the hall and the wind whirled the treasures around, creating a shimmering breeze filled with sparkling trinkets, coins and gems. Ornstein found that the scene would have been beautiful to behold, were it not for the ugly face of Sir Gervin in the midst of it all who came charging in with his comrades. They had to be suicidal, believing to stand a chance against them. But alas, Sir Gervin surely expected Sir Callaghan to join him any moment, but he would not show himself, of course. The fight was over as quickly as it had begun; Faraam had simply mowed them down with his swordspear after throwing them off balance with a gust and Ornstein swiftly stabbed everyone who tried to attack the God from behind. The men were quickly slain, their occult weapons slow and useless against the two former Dragonslayers that danced on the wind and struck like lightning. But Sir Gervin had not been killed, not yet.

He was lying on the floor with slashed tendons and crippled shoulders, unable to move. Faraam made a gesture to give Ornstein the advantage, which he gladly accepted. _Revenge_!

What Faraam and Ornstein did to him next was rather gruesome, too gruesome for any sophisticated person to put into words. They were both not fond of torture and mutilation, but this time, they made an exception to let the lesson sink in. Sir Gervin would resurrect at the nearest bonfire after all, and simply killing him would not suffice to put him in his place.

“That was oddly satisfying”, Faraam grinned and wiped his bloodied hands clean on the surcoat of one of the fallen. Ornstein had discovered a small corvid figurine in Sir Gervin's front pocket. “Ah, that must be the artifact”, Faraam said and gently took it from Ornstein's hand, frowning when giving it a closer look. “This looks familiar...”

“You have found it, I see”, Sir Callaghan said, suddenly standing right behind them, “please, destroy it.”

 

He looked anxious, and Ornstein suddenly had a bad feeling about this. He turned and looked into the man's flickering red eyes, not sure what he would do once set free – would he attack them?

Faraam apparently did not share his worry. He dropped the figurine and crushed it with his swordspear, hitting the small thing with astonishing precision. The figurine broke, and Sir Callaghan's armor flaked and chipped away like old paint, giving way to – feathers? Dense, black plumage burst forth from beneath and his arms grew longer, turning into the black wings of a raven. Even his head changed, elongating somewhat until it looked like an eerie mix of a bird and a man, but the rest of the body stayed roughly the same.

“I am eternally grateful to you”, Sir Callaghan crowed and bowed gracefully, “you have saved me from an eternity of painful and humiliating servitude. I will now seek out my former master and see to his punishment....he will never stray far from the bonfire...”

Faraam nodded and wished him well, and the birdman ran off into the darkness of the tunnel, never to be seen again.

 

“I would not want to switch places with Sir Gervin now”, Faraam laughed, “this bird surely looked murderous. Those feathers.....I would assume the bird to be one of Velka's. But she is best not meddled with, as history has taught us. Let us continue our journey.” Ornstein nodded, shuddering as he thought about the Goddess of Sin. The rogue deity's actions had always been fairly unpredictable and there was evidence that linked her to the occult. Perhaps it had been no coincidence that they had found one of her servants in this place, full of sinners and occult objects.

He followed Faraam as he left the hall behind, not even minding the loads of treasure that lay scattered about. They were truly free and had no need for riches of any kind. Ornstein roughly remembered the way to the spot he had found Solaire in and led the way, quickly finding the entrance to the tomb of the giants. The necromancer who awaited them in the large room died from a single hit of Faraam's swordspear, not managing to attack even _once_. The irony of the situation was so great that the lion knight had a fit of convulsing laughter that accompanied him well into the tomb of giants. “To imagine that it was _him_ who killed you”, the knight cackled, “it is unbelievable! So unreal! The great Faraam, killed and flayed like a _pig_ by some malformed incompetent, I will never recover!” He wheezed and steadied himself by leaning on a rock for support. He felt so relieved, as if he had woken from a terrible nightmare that now seemed so utterly ridiculous that he could not _fathom_ having ever been afraid of it.

Faraam smiled knowingly, letting the insult slide and patted Ornstein's back to calm him. “I understand that my death must be very entertaining to you, but you should calm down now, lest your laughter attracts more giant skeletons than we can handle and I die _once more_ ”, he winked. But the skeletons proved no match; they easily dispatched them with their spears and sent the bones clattering into the depths while illuminating the way with their lightning attacks. Soon, they found the passage to the fiery cavern. Faraam grabbed Ornstein by the waist and simply flew over, landing gracefully on the glowing rock. “Now, where did you find Solaire again?”, he asked. Ornstein tried to remember and led the way once more, leading them through the burning valley, bounding over lava and finally reaching the bonfire – but none of the two knights sitting there had sun emblems on their chests.

 

“No...”, Ornstein whispered, suddenly pale. “Don't tell me he linked the fire.”

Faraam suddenly looked stressed and stalked over to the alarmed humans who instantly began to roll away from him in fear, doing one somersault after another. Ornstein had always found this way of dodging to be rather odd, but it was apparently favored among the undead.

“Wait, I do not wish to harm you!”, Faraam called out and ran after the fleeing humans, “I am looking for a knight named 'Solaire of Astora'. Stop running and answer my questions, or I will make you!”

He finally caught up with the knights and grabbed one of them, holding him by his wrists to keep him from drawing his weapon. The knight flailed and screamed, not listening at all, while his friend helplessly stood by, unsure if he should dare to attack the huge man. Ornstein could not suppress his smile, for the scene looked like a father trying to reason with his petulant child that was throwing a tantrum.

“Oh quit it, you coward! QUIT IT AND LISTEN!”, Faraam bellowed, shaking the poor human to make him stop screaming, but he only panicked more and kicked at Faraam.

_...I surely am glad he does not have any real children_ , Ornstein thought, grimacing at what he saw. He walked over to the anxious bystander and waved, sitting down at a distance to show his peaceful intentions. And indeed: the human still looked nervous, but his panic had somewhat subsided and given way to suspicion.

“Worry not, we just want to ask you a question”, Ornstein explained.

“Tell him to release my friend!”, the human demanded in a shrill voice, clenching his fists and looking at Faraam who was still holding up the other human by his wrists and tried to talk to him.

“Faraam, just let him go. He won't talk to you like this”, he called. Faraam huffed and unceremoniously dropped the man who landed on his butt and rolled away as soon as he had hit the ground.

“If you can do any better, Ornstein, go ahead!”, he grumbled and crossed his arms.

Ornstein slowly turned to the other human again, mindful not to startle him. “We are looking for a friend, a knight like you. His name is Solaire of Astora. He is wearing-”

“I know him!”, the human muttered, still antsy to get away, “He went into the ruins yesterday, I don't know where to exactly. But you don't know it from me!” With that, he followed his friend and fled into the distance, disappearing behind the glowing rocks.

 

“You are surprisingly bad with humans for leading one of their covenants”, Ornstein mused and shook his head.

“I am bad with _cowards_!”, Faraam scoffed, “My warriors would never behave in such a disgraceful way! What else could I have done to make him talk?!”

“You approach them calmly like you would approach a scared animal, and you talk in a soft voice instead of _yelling_ at them”, Ornstein grinned, “but perhaps you simply lack the finesse; after all, you are fairly …. _physical_ in your way of talking to people.”

Faraam scowled at him then but managed to calm his flaring anger.

“It matters not. At least we know that it was not Solaire who linked the fire. Let us go find those ruins, then”, the God grumbled and started walking.

“Don't be mad, Faraam, I just wanted to tease you. I was simply surprised for I know that you can be very gentle”, Ornstein explained, “You certainly did not tame dragons by yelling at them, right?”

 

Faraam sighed in exasperation. “I was ….afraid of the possibility that Solaire was the one burning in the kiln as we speak...and I loathe being afraid, it makes me angry”, he huffed.

“I know, Faraam. But he is most likely fine and not very far from us. So lighten up, will you? I am sure his adoration for you will lift your spirits and inflate your ego to it's usual size”, Ornstein assured him and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

 

They found the old demon ruins towering over the lava lake like rotten teeth in the fiery haze of a dragon's maw. Small groups of demons were scattered about, guarding the entrance to the ruins.

“Should we engage them or simply run past?”, Ornstein inquired.

“I had been looking forward to fighting Sir Callaghan, it certainly would have been an interesting fight, but alas; he turned out to be a victim in need of my help. The pitiful efforts of the humans left me unsatisfied as well, therefore I wish to fight those demons. I have to release the pent up energy somehow or I might just explode”, Faraam said and readied his spear.

They dashed across the valley and closed in on a small group of Taurus Demons. The demons responded to the attack quite viciously and turned out to be rather bulky. They were able to absorb many blows before finally succumbing to their injuries. Had Faraam and Ornstein been any slower, the fight might have proven quite difficult, but they outsped the demons and dodged the slow attacks of their greataxes with ease.

The Capra Demons they encountered next were even less challenging: They were slightly faster than their bigger cousins, but less bulky and died after a few hits to the chest or head.

“This is so boring!”, Faraam complained as he lopped the last Demon's head off.

Ornstein agreed. “The knights who were sent here always boasted about their heroic feats in these ruins, but this is childsplay! They were probably making everything up while lazing about! Or perhaps the demons that would actually make for an interesting fight have all been slain”, he huffed. “Now that I'm thinking about it – I wonder why Quelaag helped me in the last cycle”, Ornstein mused, “after all, Lord Gwyn sent so many of his knights to slay the demons after the incident with the chaos flame.”

 

“You never noticed?”, Faraam asked, an amused smile on his face.

“...noticed what, exactly?”, Ornstein asked.

“Quelaag held a certain...'fondness' for you, back in the war against the dragons. She always kept throwing glances in your direction during our war councils, it was fairly obvious. Perhaps she spared your life for old times sake”, Faraam shrugged.

“She.....what? Are you serious, or are you trying to make fun of me?”, the knight asked with a frown.

“I am serious, Ornstein. I suppose she never told you because she knew it was not meant to be. As my first knight, your life and body quite literally belonged to me and you wouldn't have had any time to raise a family, being sworn into the service of the God of War. It was no secret that you were my favorite and therefore it was clear that I would not simply let you off like that”, he grinned, “Besides, she had her own duties to fulfill. But still, it was so painfully obvious that I cannot fathom how you failed to notice this.”

“I suppose I only had eyes for you”, Ornstein deadpanned. He found it surprising that something like this had managed to slip by his usually sharp mind, but it wouldn't have changed anything, anyway – just made the situation awkward and uncomfortable. Nothing in the world could ever make him leave Faraam's side, not then and not now.

 

They had already traversed a huge parts of the ruins when they reached a dark tunnel that was overgrown with roots. And yet, it was not completely dark, for something was glowing in the distance.

“Faraam, look!”, Ornstein said and pointed towards the light in the tunnel.

Faraam squinted into the darkness. “What a peculiar light. You are right, we should probably take a look at that”, he said.

They used one of the larger roots to descend into the tunnel, careful not to make a noise, until thy finally came near enough to see where the glow was coming from. There in front of them lay a figure, writhing on the ground with contorted limbs and strangled gasps, but the most unusual thing was the light that shone from their head – so blindingly bright it prevented them from seeing any details of the person. Ornstein found that it looked eerie in the twilight of the dusty corridor, almost like a sun in the darkness of the universe.

Apparently, Faraam had the same thought and gave an amused snicker: “Hah! If Solaire could see this, he would be thrilled! It really looks like a sun, doesn't it. Perhaps we could lop this creature's head off and bring it to him as a gift, what do you say, Ornstein?”

 

But as soon as he had said this, the figure stilled.

“It appears it doesn't like the idea of having it's head lopped off”, Ornstein deadpanned, “Who is to say it doesn't stop glowing once the head is disconnected from the body?”

“Well, there is but one way to find out. Let's put it out of it's misery”, Faraam smirked and lifted his spear.

Before any of them could react, the glowing figure jumped to it's feet and _charged_.

“Hrgg...argh...finally found it... my sun”, the figure wheezed and Ornstein felt an unholy dread settle in his gut, for now he could see the person up close – just as he could see the sun emblem on their chest.

 


	14. Solaire

“This is impossible”, Ornstein breathed and looked at Faraam, but the God appeared to be equally aghast, just parrying the glowing man's attacks while staring at him with an expression that could only be described as grief. It was Solaire. He was missing his helmet which had been replaced by some terrible abomination of a glowing bug, but the sun emblem on his chest was unmistakable.

“No! No, this cannot be happening, Faraam! What – what do we _do_?”, Ornstein yelled when Solaire wheeled around and started attacking him instead of the God. He was just as skilled as he had been in the fight against Smough, if not more so: The madness that had apparently befallen him only seemed to increase his ferocity in battle as he swung his sword at Ornstein's limbs and hurled sunlight spears at him without cease, all the while talking to himself in that weird, moaning way – he had to be either in terrible pain or in some state of ecstasy. Whatever the case, it sounded deeply unsettling. Solaire was still conscious enough to aim for the weak spots of his armor, but Ornstein's long legs made it easy for him to dance out of the human's reach, leaving only empty air for the sunlight sword to strike.

“I don't want to kill him!”, Ornstein yelled and dodged a particularly dangerous jab of the sword that aimed for his knee. Solaire was seemingly trying to cripple him to prevent him from getting out of range all the time.

“Neither do I”, Faraam grunted and kicked at the back of Solaire's knees to make him fall, “but I am not sure if there is anything we can do for him, this looks really bad. Perhaps we can”, he ducked down to evade a sunlight spear to his head, “try to rip that _thing_ off his head.”

“I will restrain him then!”, Ornstein declared and charged forward, reappearing behind a confused Solaire in the blink of an eye. He grabbed Solaire's wrists and attempted to wrestle them behind his back and make him drop the sword. But the tiny human was so much stronger than he had anticipated – he swiftly batted Ornstein's hand away and buried the sword deep in his knee, utilizing the small opening in the armor where the hinge sat. “Shit”, Ornstein growled and dropped to his healthy knee, not letting go of Solaire and stretching his other leg out to the side, so that his injured knee and the embedded sword were finally out of Solaire's reach. Faraam's hands were on Solaire's head in an instant, grabbing the bug and pulling so hard that Ornstein feared Solaire's head might come off with it.

“Aaarghhh...”, Solaire groaned and struggled to free himself, but Ornstein held his wrists behind his back in an iron grip.

“It... doesn't.. come off!”, Faraam gritted his teeth while pulling with all his might. A disheartening _crack_ could be heard and Solaire cried out in pain.

“Stop it, you brute! You will kill him”, Ornstein grunted, trying to keep the struggling man under control. How could such a small person be so strong?!

“I have an idea. Brace yourself, Ornstein!”, Faraam yelled, placing both hands on top of the bug and discharging a powerful blast of lightning into it. The electricity traveled through the bug into Solaire and Ornstein before finding it's way into the ground. Solaire gasped and whined, foaming from the mouth and while Ornstein himself was fairly resistant to lightning, it was still quite painful and made white spots dance in front of his eyes. But he willed his trembling limbs to be still, not letting go of Solaire's wrists.

After a few seconds that felt like an eternity to him, he could finally feel the tension seep out of Solaire's limbs. At the same time, the blinding glow of the bug began to dim a little as the disgusting creature leapt off Solaires head and began to scurry down the hallway.

 

“Oh no, you are not getting away”, Faraam growled and charged the bug, swiftly impaling it on his swordspear and roasting it in another charge of lightning. The bug's underdeveloped legs struggled wildly before finally going still, the light fading for good. Ornstein released the breath he had been holding and finally looked down at Solaire, who was lying with his head in his lap now, eyes half closed and unfocused, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead and his mouth slightly open. He was either unconscious or dead. The lion knight took off his gauntlets and gently touched the tiny bleeding holes where the disgusting creature had burrowed deep into the man's head. A soothing light radiated from his hands as he began to cast a healing miracle, desperately wishing that it was not too late. Faraam sat down in front of him, placing his own hands on top of Ornstein's and participating in the casting of the miracle. The healing light instantly got stronger.

“What a nightmare”, Faraam sighed and regarded Solaire's face with a look of sorrow, “Things like this always happen to the good people. People who deserve so much better.” Then, his gaze traveled to Ornstein's left knee where the sword was still embedded, a small puddle of blood having formed beneath it.

“Don't mind it. Let us focus on Solaire for now! Who knows where he will be reborn, should he die now – _if_ he will be reborn at all. He looks fairly hollow to me”, Ornstein grunted and doubled his efforts.

“He is _not_ hollow!”, Faraam protested, but there was uncertainty in his voice, as if he was trying to convince both of them.  Ornstein ignored the accusing glare and threw every ounce of energy into the healing spell. It felt like all of his strength was being sucked out of him, flowing through his hands and leaving his body through his palms to fuel the soothing glow beneath. Ornstein was no healer, and while he could perform some of the more sophisticated healing miracles – courtesy of Gwynivere – it always took a great portion of his energy. He had never learned the proper healing techniques which one had to study for decades, that enabled the healers on the battlefields to ration their mental resources so effectively that they were able to cast miracle after miracle without tiring for a long time. Faraam didn't know the techniques either, for he had never shown much interest in any skill that didn't have to do with weapons, and he too began to look rather tired after some time. While they were both able to cast offensive miracles like the sunlight spear, they had always used them sparsely and had primarily relied on their respective weapons, but in this situation there was nothing the grand Dragonslayer Spears of legend could do. They lay there on the ground, utterly useless.

 

Finally, _thankfully_ , Solaire's eyelids began to flutter and a fevery shimmer of sweat started to appear on his skin, his breath coming fast and shallow, but he was _breathing_.

“Keep going, he's almost there”, Faraam muttered, the exertion of the spell showing in his voice. Ornstein had no idea what the bug had done to the human's brain, but the damage had to be quite severe for the healing to take this long. The additional damage caused by Faraam's lightning certainly wasn't helping.

“...argh.....what..”, Solaire whispered, disoriented and struggling to lift his trembling hands, reaching for the lion snout of Ornstein's helmet that loomed above him. To prevent the human from pulling on his helmet, Ornstein sat up straight and lifted his face out of Solaire's reach, leaving the sun knights hands to grasp at empty air. When he found that he couldn't reach it, Solaire began to touch his own head and the two large pairs of hands that were resting on it. Then, his gaze fell on Faraam, and his blue eyes grew _wide_. He stopped moving completely, simply staring at Faraam as the God and the knight continued to heal him. Ornstein could feel his strength waning quickly. The other man apparently noticed and said: “You may stop now, I can take it from here. Take care of your knee, lest you sustain permanent damage to it.”

Tentatively, Ornstein nodded and carefully shifted Solaire so that he was lying in Faraam's lap instead of his own. He then pulled the sword free with a wince and began to heal his knee – more slowly, this time – hoping that his energy wouldn't run out too soon. Meanwhile, the God continued to heal Solaire and Ornstein couldn't help but smile a little at the sight of them: Faraam was holding the tiny warrior like a child, Solaire's head resting in the crook of his elbow while the God's other hand still hovered over his head and emitted a soft, healing glow. The human's wide blue eyes were still gazing up at him in wonder, albeit a little unfocused. _This is how it should have been, our relationship with the humans_ , Ornstein thought wistfully, _instead of herding them like cattle and striking fear into their hearts, we should have helped them, guided them. I can see it now.... we were so blind, but_ you _always knew, didn't you? You always cared about them._

 

“How are you feeling?”, Faraam asked with obvious strain in his voice, “Do you think you will be fine if I stop casting now?”

“...Yes, I.... will be fine, I – it really is you. How...”, Solaire rasped between ragged breaths, staring up at him in awe. Faraam carefully took his hand off the human's head and sighed in relief when nothing bad happened as the spell's light faded. Solaire drifted in and out of consciousness and finally fell asleep, but his formerly sickly pale skin was looking much better now and his breathing had evened, his chest slowly raising and falling as he slept the sleep of the exhausted. Ornstein scooted over to sit next to Faraam, the both of them resting with their backs against the corridor's wall.

“I cannot even begin to describe how relieved I am”, Faraam sighed and tiredly rubbed his eyes, careful not to wake the sleeping man in his lap, “losing him would have been...difficult for me. He is undead, but I am fairly sure this death would have made him lose his sanity for good.”

“What makes you think that?”, Ornstein asked, surprised that Faraam was suddenly acknowledging Solaire's slipping sanity.

“Whenever one of us met him, he wore a helmet, right? The parasite would have been unable to get through the metal, so he must have taken off his helmet himself and placed this parasite on his own head – an act of sheer desperation. It somewhat resembles a sun, but if he is willing to accept this disgusting bug as the final reward of his quest, he _must_ be on the brink of insanity. He has given up”, Faraam said, and he looked so terribly worried that it broke the lion knight's heart.

 

“Solaire will be fine, he is not hollow yet, you said so yourself. He is still able to talk”, Ornstein assured him and gently squeezed his shoulder, stifling a yawn. His knee was not completely healed, but his energy was exhausted. “You should sleep as well, Ornstein, and try to regain some of your strength while you can. I will watch over the both of you”, the God suggested, trying and failing to hide his expression of sorrow behind one of his halfmoon smiles. Ornstein wanted to protest, not wanting to leave the other man alone when he looked so sad and vulnerable, but he knew that he would have to rest or exhaustion would wrest his consciousness from him sooner or later. Gently pulling Faraam's head towards him by his scarf, he placed a chaste kiss on his mouth and whispered: “We will be fine, and Solaire will be fine as well. Whatever happens, I am here for you and we will find a way out of this, together. Do you understand?”

Faraam's gray eyes looked like puddles of rainwater, brimming with unshed tears, but he nodded. “I don't deserve you-”, he began, but Ornstein lifted his hand to stop him.

“Yes you do. You deserve so much more than what this rotten world has given you. So much more”, Ornstein grunted and reluctantly leaned back against the wall, finally allowing his heavy eyelids to fall shut. As soon as darkness engulfed him, sleep hit him like a tidal wave and dragged his mind down into the black waters of unconsciousness, a deep, dreamless void that shut out all pain and worries.

 

 

Faraam was sitting there; a sleeping warrior in his lap and a sleeping knight to his side, slightly leaning against him. He listened to the sound of their calm breathing that mingled with the cool draught of the corridor as he watched over them, somewhat grateful to get a break from the searing heat of Izalith's city ruins that lay outside. The hours passed and when he looked down at the sleeping Solaire, his thoughts drifted into the past as he remembered the vast armies of his warriors in the golden age. So few of them were left now. One by one, they had been slipping through his fingers like sand, falling to their demise and out of his reach. It had begun with the loyal knights he had left behind in Anor Londo when he had been exiled, and seamlessly continued with the once proud kingdom of Forossa, home of his beloved lion knights that he had named after his first knight back in Anor Londo – the man that was now fast asleep next to him. He had missed Ornstein dearly in those days and thought it only fair to have his new kingdom's elite unit named after the man's lion motif.

 

Forossa had been the first kingdom he had called home just after his exile. Faraam had attempted to integrate his dragons into Forossa's society, teaching the language to his oracles and encouraging his dragons and knights to work together. But his attempts to unite humans and dragonkind had ultimately failed; while Faraam had been an influential and revered God in Forossa, the neighboring countries had begged to differ. He had eventually been unable to prevent the escalation of the numerous conflicts and the resulting fall of Forossa, and if he was honest, his own quick temper had played a huge part in it: In his recklessness and pride, he had underestimated his enemies, had not bothered with diplomacy and instead tried to subdue them with brute force, believing himself to be invincible. His devoted warriors and many of his dragons had payed for his foolishness with their very blood. The scattered remains of the kingdom were not worth speaking of; after it had become lawless, his once proud knights had left and turned into bandits and mercenaries who he had still watched over until they, too, had eventually vanished behind his horizon.

He had moved on, then. Somewhat humbled by this disastrous defeat, he had assumed a more withdrawn role and watched over his warriors from a distance instead of living with them like a king, making sure to disguise himself whenever he wandered among them. Still, wherever he went, he had always found humans who were willing to believe in this strange, nameless God, and he had blessed their weapons and armor and bestowed miracles unto them as reward for their devotion. The covenant of the warriors of sunlight had been flourishing, it had been one of the few covenants whose members did not only work together because they worshiped the same deity, but also had a close bond with each other. But even the countless bright spirits who were part of this covenant were slowly burning out, leaving only ashes and hollowed husks behind and there was nothing he could do. Now he was sitting here with everything he had been able to salvage, and he smiled brightly to keep the melancholy at bay that tugged at his heart and demanded his tears. Now was not the time to show weakness.

 

After a few hours of silence, Solaire finally stirred. Faraam observed the man's face as his eyelids fluttered and his brow creased, the deep blue eyes focusing on the God's face once more. “By the sun-”, he breathed, “It really is you! I thought I had been dreaming!” The sun knight struggled to get to his feet, but was too weak to even sit up. Unwilling to force the knight to remain in this undignified position, Faraam shifted him out of his lap to sit beside him, leaned against the wall, but Solaire grunted in pain and slumped against him. Alarmed, Faraam realized that blood was trickling out of Solaires nose.

“Oh no. Solaire, how are you feeling? Does your head still hurt?”, he asked with concern in his voice and carefully laid the knight down on his lap once again to heal him some more. He cursed himself for skipping the long and boring healing lessons in Anor Londo and for leaving behind his ring that boosted miracles. He had obviously done a botched job here.

“Lord Faraam... there might be some estus left in my flask, but my hands feel so numb I might drop it. Please... I must look pitiful, but could you...?”, Solaire asked and weakly gestured to the flask dangling from his belt. Of course! Why hadn't they thought of this? Carefully, Faraam detached the half-empty flask from the belt and opened it, gently resting it against Solaire's lips who began to gulp the golden glowing liquid down without much restraint. _The undead and their estus, always chugging like there is no tomorrow. Well – perhaps there isn't._

“Aaah... thank you”, Solaire gasped when the flask was empty, “now I am feeling so much better. Lord Faraam, I apologize for attacking you in my fit of madness, now I remember everything.” He was looking a bit healthier now and got up from Faraam's lap with some effort, sitting down next to the God. _Our healing abilities leave much to be desired, if such a simple flask can outdo our combined efforts_ , the God thought grimly. The silent and familiar despair of a man whose powers were declining was breathing down his neck once more, making him feel utterly mortal. A feeling he shouldn't have known ever.

“Worry not, I am not holding it against you. I am simply glad that you survived”, he assured the sun knight and managed a smile, ignoring the fear that constricted his heart. But then, Solaire's face took on a look of alarm and he turned his head swiftly to look at Ornstein's unmoving body. The lion knight was still fast asleep, his head resting against Faraam's shoulder.

“This man, he killed me”, Solaire whispered in a weirdly calm voice, turning back to look at Faraam again, “but why? We were just standing there, and he just lifted his spear and ran me through.”

 

Faraam sighed. “It was an accident, he mistook you for an illusion. When he wakes up, he will apologize to you. But why don't you tell me how this bug managed to almost devour your brains? What are you even doing here, you know that the whole firelinking plan is merely a ruse, right? Did you solely come here to help your brothers and sisters?”

Solaire averted his gaze. “I will be honest, my Lord: I was looking for you. I did not know how to find you, so I went where I expected to find your summoning sign – here, where most of us sunlight warriors end up nowadays. But I searched everywhere, and yet I found nothing”, he mumbled with a halfhearted smile, “I apologize, it must surely sound foolish.” Faraam laughed then, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You simply could have prayed to me, Solaire and told me of your whereabouts, I would have solved this... situation. It seems I overestimated your faith”, he winked, trying to lighten the mood.

Solaire's face shifted to despair. “But I did! I prayed day and night, but you never answered, you never gave a sign that you even _heard_ my prayers! At first, I thought you to be occupied with your duties, as would not be surprising of one who leads such a large covenant. But I slowly found out that the prayers of the other warriors were not answered anymore, as well.”

Faraam frowned at him. “I rarely ever _answer_ a prayer, Solaire, you should know that. I merely grant what people ask of me, and only if it is within my power.”

“But I could _feel_ that you heard me before”, Solaire insisted, “There used to be something on the other side, a warm presence, something that _listened_. And even if our wishes were not granted sometimes, we were still soothed by the knowledge that we had been heard by this unknown power that was watching over us, uniting us and wanting us to succeed. But now, there is _nothing_. Our prayers disappear into the empty air and despair is taking hold of my fellow warriors, for they believe that you are dead!”, he exclaimed, and then added in a more quiet voice: “And I came to believe it as well, so I lost hope. And when I found this glowing bug... I – I thought that fate had given me a final chance, my very own sun, _finally_...”, he trailed off.

 

Upon heraing this, Faraam drew him into a tight embrace, if only to hide the distress on his own face. “I am so sorry. I have failed all of you, you must be terribly disappointed”, he whispered as a stunned Solaire hesitantly hugged him back, apparently unsure if he was allowed to touch him. “I will tell you everything, and I will only tell you once, so listen”, he said and drew Solaire back so he could look into his eyes. “I.....have not abandoned you on purpose. In fact, I had been wondering why I suddenly could not hear any prayers anymore, but I simply believed my warriors to be the cause. I thought that there were simply very few of them left, if at all.”

“But my Lord, how is this possible?”, Solaire asked, “Why is the covenant losing it's power all of a sudden?”

“Because _I_ am losing my power, Solaire”, Faraam sighed. There was silence. The sun knight appeared to be unsure if the God was joking, helplessly searching his face for answers. But the grave expression remained and the resolving laughter never came.

 

“But why? _Why_?”, Solaire asked, his voice barely audible. Faraam took a deep breath and started to explain.

“The first flame is fading, as you will know by now. There is an imbalance of light and darkness in the world because in contrast to the light souls, the dark soul's power and density does not diminish when being split. Instead, the dark soul has multiplied each time it has been split, with each new human child, creating a growing and irreversible prevalence of darkness. Thus, the age of dark – the age of men – is at our very doorstep, and the power of the light souls – and therefore my own powers – are fading along with the first flame.”

 

“So _we_ are to blame”, Solaire whispered, shocked, “If humans only had not reproduced as much -”

“No. Stop right there”, Faraam interrupted him. “The cause of events is natural and necessary. I do not like it, of course, but I can see past my own desire and choose to act for the greater good of the world.”

“What greater good?”, Solaire asked with a hoarse voice, “There is nothing good about a world without a sun! Forgive my impertinence, my Lord, but you say this will be the age of men? Humans cannot live without a sun! We go hollow, our kingdoms crumble and our minds will be devoid of coherent thought. We need a sun to survive!”

“You fail to understand what I'm trying to tell you, Solaire. My Lord Father has spun many a tale to make you fear the fading of the flame, but in truth the age of men is nothing your kind has to fear, for it is _your_ age, where _you_ will be in power, finally free of the shackles the Gods have placed on you. Your true  potential will no longer be suppressed by his dogma! Solaire... at the dawn of this new age, you and your brothers and sisters will cast aside the shackles of your fleeting form! You will change, and the change might be frightening to behold at first, but your desires and the trivial pleasures of this world will not matter to you anymore, the world will be yours!”, Faraam insisted, but Solaire looked unconvinced, staring up at him with such a sad look it broke the God's heart.

“Then this will not be the age of men, but the age of hollows”, Solaire said, “Mankind will be no more, we will be reduced to mindless shells of our former selves. Everything that makes life worthwhile will be gone – there is no reason _not_ to be afraid.” He looked up at the God defiantly. “I will never accept a world without a sun.”

 

Faraam was not sure how to comfort the upset sun knight. The dragons had explained to him that the hollow was the true and most natural form of a human, the state every human would eventually return to in the coming age. They had told him that hollows were able to get along with each other just fine, even living in small societies, like Londor. They only acted hostile towards beings that were not hollow themselves. But still, he had never really understood how it all worked. How _did_ the hollows of Londor have a functioning society, when they were just that – hollow corpses without a mind of their own, simply following their old habits? They were apparently self aware, but had no joy, no passion...

And then it hit him to his very core: The fire behind Solaire's blue eyes, the passion and defiance, demanding a sun where none would be, none _could_ be. Faraam had so dearly wanted to believe that his warriors would be fine in the coming age, that they would undergo changes Faraam could not understand because he was not human and had no Darkness in his soul. That they would be transformed into beings that could rule the world together, free of all desire, a band of stoic warriors that were as everlasting as his beloved dragons. But Solaire was right – there was nothing worthwhile in a world without joy, passion and light. He imagined the listless shuffling of feet in a society of hollows as they went about their day in the darkness, without dreaming, without _feeling_. No. This was no future for _his_ warriors to live in! He had wanted to believe the dragons, clinging to their wisdom like one clung to a ship in a stormy sea, but perhaps this was simply an issue the dragons could not understand. They had never felt the passion of battle the way he and Solaire had, the joy one felt in the embrace of a lover. They liked sunbathing, but had been just fine without the sun. At their core, they were neutral beings; they could enjoy the things disparity had brought them, but did not really _need_ any of them.

Desperately searching for an answer, Faraam gave a frustrated sigh and looked at the ground between himself and Solaire.

“I will do it”, Solaire finally said.

Faraam looked at him, puzzled. “You will do what?”

“I will link the fire and become this world's sun myself if I have to! Even if it only works for a short time – every single sunrise I will bring to this world will be worth it!”

“No, Solaire! This is not the solution. Don't throw yourself away like that!”, Faraam growled, incredibly upset that he couldn't think of a solution himself. Solaire was everything he wanted his warriors to be – he was brave, strong and compassionate, even willing to sacrifice himself for the good of others. _Oh_ _Solaire... if I ever had had a son, it would have been you_. He would not let this man throw it all away in a sacrifice that was entirely _futile_. The ending of the age was inevitable and linking the fire once more would only prolong the suffering. But who was he to tell him that? Faraam had planned to turn into a dragon and leave this world behind with his first knight in tow, simply abandoning it all. Now, he felt ashamed of it. He placed his hands on Solaire's shoulders and looked deep into his eyes that were filled with endless sorrow.

“You are correct, a world without a sun is not worth living in. We will find a solution, you have my word. But I forbid that you link the fire, do you understand?”, he asked and pierced Solaire with his gaze.

 

A noise made them turn their heads to look at Ornstein who had awoken and was now bowing before Solaire, his forehead on the ground, his injured leg still sticking out to the side awkwardly. “Knight Solaire, I beg your forgiveness. It was never my intention to kill you and it is one of my greatest regrets to this very day. I believed you to be an illusion created by Lord Gwyndolin, because you addressed me with my last name that you couldn't have known, but once I realized my grave mistake, it was too late. If you find that you cannot forgive me, you are free to strike me down in turn.”

Solaire seemed taken aback, looking somewhat helplessly at Faraam, but the God just rolled his eyes.

“...of course I forgive you, Sir Ornstein. Accidents happen to the best of us, and as I am undead, no permanent harm was done”, Solaire laughed halfheartedly.

“Yes Ornstein, we know that you are very sorry, but please cease this embarrassing display of sycophancy. You are overdoing it”, Faraam sighed and grabbed Ornstein's injured leg, roughly pulling it so it lay on his lap. He then placed his hands on it and began to cast another healing miracle – slower this time, to save energy.

 

“You say I could not have known your last name, Sir Ornstein, but Lord Faraam addressed you with it just before we entered the tomb of Lord Gwyn. I thought it to be more appropriate to address you with your last name, even if you were not introduced to me as such, for we are not all that familiar with each other”, Solaire explained awkwardly, “I am sorry if it caused you confusion. And I am very sorry for causing you this trouble by letting myself be overcome by a parasite – and for injuring your knee, of course-”

“All is settled, then”, Faraam interrupted him, obviously desperate for this graceless situation to end. Ornstein gave him an unimpressed look, but didn't say anything further.

“I should try to find my helmet. I will be back shortly”, Solaire said and got up, searching the long corridor on wobbly legs. Ornstein looked up at Faraam's face. There was pure concentration in his gray eyes as he cast the spell, but also exhaustion. The knight could feel the flesh and tendons of his knee knit together very slowly – it would take some more time, and he was not sure if it was wise for Faraam to use up all of his energy for this.

“Faraam... I suggest we get out of here before you exhaust yourself completely. The wound is closed and I can certainly walk now”, he said, although unsure if it was the truth.

“We are not going anywhere until you have healed completely. If you wander about with an injured knee, you might sustain permanent damage to it. And we don't want that, do we? After all, your speed and dexterity are the only things that make you viable in a fight”, Faraam grunted and continued to cast the spell, but he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes to save as much energy as possible. “What has gotten into you, offering revenge to Solaire like that? It made him very uncomfortable.”

 

“Empty words mean little. Putting your life at another's mercy is a more befitting apology for taking another person's life – even if it was no permanent death”, Ornstein declared, still lying on his back with his knees in Faraam's lap. He let his gaze follow Solaire, who was searching for his helmet in the twilight.

“It was overdone and graceless. But tell me: How much did you hear of our conversation?”, Faraam asked with a raised brow.

Heat shot to the lion knights face, and he mumbled: “I... heard that Solaire spoke of his desire to link the flame, and that you forbade it. That is all.”

 

The healing spell stopped. “I need to rest for a while”, the God breathed, “and while he is gone, I will inform you of everything you missed.” And he did. While he was resting against the wall, absentmindedly petting Ornstein's knee, he gave him a quick summary of everything they had discussed; His false hopes for an age of men in which his warriors could be happy, Solaire's resolve to return the sun to this world, the peculiar nature of hollows.

“I have been fooling myself”, Faraam grumbled, “Upon our return to archdragon peak, I will consult the dragons once more and try to find an _actual_ solution. Perhaps we can do something that will not go against the nature of this world, but makes it more bearable for my warriors instead.”

 

Solaire returned, helmet carried under one arm. “I found it. My helmet, I mean”, he said, “and... I don't wish to impose, but I was wondering if I... would be allowed to stay in your presence for a little longer, Lord Faraam”.

“Why of course! You are not going anywhere, lest you link the fire behind my back”, Faraam winked and began to cast another healing miracle. “Sit down, if you will. We will rest here until Sir Ornstein's leg is healed.” The hint of a smile returned to Solaire's formerly crestfallen face as he sat down next to Faraam and peered up at him from the side. “May I help? I know a healing miracle myself. It is certainly much weaker than yours, Lord Faraam, but I would be pleased to repay the both of you for your kindness.”

“It would be of great help, Solaire. As you can see, I was never destined to be a healer”, Faraam grimaced. Solaire nodded and carefully placed his hands on top of Faraam's. They were ridiculously tiny in comparison, like the hands of a child, and Faraam was unable to suppress a smile. The sun knight then began to cast his own miracle, which appeared to be of a similar nature as Faraam's and merged well with it. They did not rush it like Ornstein and Faraam had done before, but instead let the healing magic gently seep out of their hands and into the wound.

“I apologize for being so clumsy as to get myself injured”, Ornstein mumbled.

“If that means I will get less of your sass until you have recovered, I would say it was worth it”, Faraam smirked and playfully slapped his thigh, but Ornstein glared at him and remained silent. _Not in front of Solaire_ , his eyes scolded him.

“You and your ridiculous pride. Such a bore”, Faraam muttered under his breath. Ornstein was apparently still reluctant to show his more personal side when others were around, even if it was just Solaire. Faraam still could feel the occasional glance from the sunknight, and pretended not to notice. Then, he swiftly turned his head and caught Solaire staring, who instantly blushed and turned his head away, mumbling an apology.

 

“Is there something on your mind, Solaire? If so, feel free to tell me about it. We will be sitting here for some time, and Ornstein is not up for playful banter, it seems”, he said.

Solaire looked down at his own hands that still rested on top of Faraam's, remaining silent for a little longer before saying: “...its just – I have so many questions. I still find it hard to believe that you are really here, talking to me. It feels so unreal.” Ornstein rolled his eyes at the way Faraam's eyes sparkled upon hearing this. Soon, his inflated ego would surely rise it's ugly head once more. Solaire looked up at the God hopefully. “...may I ask you something? I would like to know more about you.”

“You may ask”, Faraam said, regarding Solaire with an amused sparkle in his eyes. The sun knight seemed to phrase the question in his head carefully before finally asking: “Lord Faraam, you are the firstborn Son of Lord Gwyn, and yet your statues have been smashed and your name erased from the annals of history. How did this happen? I never managed to find any reliable information on you during my long years of traveling Lordran. I only knew that you were watching over the sunlight warriors and that you used to be the God of War. Forgive my curiosity, but I would really like to know how it all came to be.”

“I don't know, Solaire, this story is quite boring”, Faraam teased, but Ornstein could tell that he was secretly happy to tell Solaire the story of his past. The lion knight, too, was pleased to hear stories of better times. He closed his eyes and let his imagination roam free as Faraams voice filled the room with images of the age of dragons, retelling the ancient tales of war and wonder that had shaped this world. His words painted a landscape of gray crags and everlasting dragons, of fire and death, of Gwyn's exalted army that flooded the gray landscape like a tidal wave of molten silver and wrought victory from their enemies. Ornstein felt his face heat up and turned his head away when Faraam described his first knight's incredible prowess in battle, how effortlessly he had caught the God's eye and how dear he was to him, a speck of true gold in the argent sea.

It did not take long until the story shifted in favor of the dragons, though, mourning their defeat and the lost knowledge and wisdom that had died with so many of these ancient creatures. Solaire listened with wide eyes as Faraam described his first, secret meetings with dragons, how hard it had been to come close to them at first without being attacked, and his budding friendship with the stormdrake who had managed to see his true colors from the very start and had been the first to trust him. He also explained the origin of his new name, 'Faraam' – 'like the sun' in the tongue of the dragons, the name the king of the storm had called him by from the day they met.

Faraam's sparkling eyes turned somewhat dim when the story reached the chapter of his exile, the loss of his divine status and family, of his first knight and everything he had ever known – his biggest sacrifice. But he spoke fondly of his father who had defended him to the very end, letting him escape unscathed when the other Gods had demanded his death, mutilation or even worse. He then moved on to happier times following his newfound freedom: The seemingly infinite number of wars he had partaken in, the titanic foes he had slain, the countless times he had soared in on his stormdrake and turned the tide in battles almost lost, his adventures with the warriors of his covenant, his many disguises and tricks to make sure no one ever recognized him in armies that were as big as whole countries. Ornstein listened with great interest, for he found that most of these tales had taken place in foreign lands and were unknown to him. He felt bitter that Faraam had lived such an adventurous life while he himself had been left to rot in Anor Londo, bitter that the God had never even told him of these tales, they sounded absolutely amazing and he dearly wished to have been part of this. But he fought the feeling of bitterness down and decided that he was happy for his lover for having lived his life to the fullest.

 

Finally, Faraam described the founding of archdragon peak and the path of the dragon and then moved on to their newest endeavors, ending with their arrival in this very tunnel far below the surface of his ancient homeland.

“You would never believe what happened next! We stumbled upon a creature with a glowing head that turned out to be one of the few remaining warriors of mine. I even considered lopping off it's head and gifting it to you”, he laughed, but Solaire did not join in. Instead, he looked at the God as if he'd hung the stars in the skies, his blue eyes filled to the brim with wonder and admiration. Ornstein felt a stab in his heart when he realized that not a long time ago, he had looked at Faraam just like Solaire did now. Sometimes, he wished that this had never changed, that the magic had never been lost, but it was a selfish wish. Faraam needed an equal by his side, someone he could rely on that was willing to look behind the grand mirage at the ugly side of things, someone that knew his weaknesses and fears, not some lovestruck puppy kneeling at his feet and expecting him to save the day. But he was happy for Solaire – the man looked as if all of his worries that had plagued him minutes before had been burned away by the heroic tales of the past.

“Lord Faraam... that was simply amazing”, Solaire whispered reverently, “I had expected the story of your life to be quite extraordinary, but _this_ surpassed my wildest dreams! Forgive me for doubting you before. If there is anyone that can find a way out of this dire situation, it must be you!”

 _And there it is again,_ Ornstein thought as he observed the shift in Faraam's eyes once more – pride got overshadowed by uncertainty, the vast expectations of Solaire and his wishes not to disappoint him were obviously putting great pressure on the God. After all, not even Lord Gwyn had found a true solution for this situation; Faraam was expected to complete an impossible task. Ornstein took one of the God's hands in his own and squeezed gently, reminding him that he was not alone, and Faraam squeezed back with the hint of a smile on his face.

 

They had stopped their healing spells a while ago and when Ornstein carefully tried to bend his knee, there was no pain at all. He was about to suggest moving on, but then he realized that Faraam had not rested at all.

“Faraam, are you not tired? You spent so much time healing us, maybe we should - ”

“No”, Faraam shook his head, “there is no way I could sleep now. We have been wasting way too much time here, and there is too much on my mind.” He got up from the floor and brushed the dust off his tattered clothes.

“I have learned from the past, it is not too late. We will return to Archdragon Peak where I will consult the dragons once again and think of a solution for this impossible task – before the age of dark falls onto our heads, and _hopefully_ before one of those imbeciles links the fire once more! Follow me!”

“Wait!”, Ornstein called after him, “I told you that there was a shortcut to the surface, in Quelaag's domain! Shouldn't we use it? We would be so much faster.”

Faraam stopped in his tracks and thought about it. “You are right. Lead the way, Ornstein”, he shrugged and crossed his arms behind his head, cracking his neck. Solaire was apparently unsure if he was allowed to follow them, his pose spelling indecisiveness.

"Solaire, you may accompany us if you wish to. I am quite sure you never rode on a dragons back before", Faraam winked and smiled at the way the knights face immediately lit up and he began to follow the taller men. "It is a great honor Lord Faraam, thank you! I will gladly come along", he beamed and hurried to keep up, fidgeting with his tattered tabard to make sure everything was in its place.

"Better to keep an eye on him. Would be a shame to lose him after all this effort", Faraam mumbled when Ornstein looked at him questioningly. They went all the way back to the lava lake, leaving the burning ruins behind. The relief of finding Solaire had lifted their spirits and they marched across the burning planes with fond smiles on their faces, but the smiles fell when they reached the entrance to Quelaag's domain – there was noise, so much noise coming out of the tunnel that led to the spiders lair, the sounds of metal clashing - and screams.

“By the sun, what is going on in there? It sounds like a battle is taking place”, Solaire frowned and placed his helmet on his head again, readying himself for a fight. Ornstein followed his example, concerned about the prospect of a fight in their tired, almost jaded state of body and mind. _Please no, just let us go home for once_ , he thought and quickened his steps, grating his teeth. 

"Be quiet", Faraam rumbled, "and stay behind me. We will take a careful look before showing ourselves, I want to know what we are dealing with before diving head first into a fight that could be _anything_. There are ancient evils to be found in these fiery depths."

As they hurried towards the tunnel, the noise ceased and an eerie silence took it's place.

 

 


End file.
